Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
AN: Thanks so much to ebhg for previewing, beta-ing, re-reading, etc!
Happy Easter!
"Papa Bear says wait until twilight and then look for the mailbox. Sending our love." The moment was broken, and I could see Edward retreat back into himself, his face hardening as he picked up the sat phone and returned to his contemplation of the humvee before us.
Ch. 8. Bandits
"Col. McCarty, I've got the transmission from Maj. Edward." Shannon pulled up a map of Nangarhar province, honing in on an area between two jutting foothills of the Safed Koh mountains. It was about 15 miles, or at least 2 hours of hard driving off the road between Kabul to Jalalabad. "It's bandit country, sir. He can't narrow down the likely hideout any further."
"Not bad work," I commented, although Maj. Heinz muttered under his breath beside me. "Can you get the satellite photos of the region? Maybe we can see movement in the area over the last 48." The room I had commandeered for my team to work was cramped, and I felt like Shannon was working in my armpit and Heinz was closer than I preferred any other man to be.
"Yes, sir. I'll have it up in jiff." Shannon started typing furiously on her beloved equipment.
"Any other news?" I asked Heinz.
"No, sir. Lt. Jones did his usual work on the door-to-door. Apparently, Edward had an informant in the area, and he used some sort of code to get the intel." I nodded in agreement. It was an excellent cover story. I knew why Heinz was annoyed with Edward – he had the apparent contacts everywhere and was even more facile with language than Rodney, but he never did the door-to-door. He might have looked arrogant to the team and to Maj. Heinz, but Edward's identity and true skill set had been a closely guarded secret for my entire career. Which reminded me.
"CIA has a presence on the base," I informed Heinz. Shannon's hands froze over her keyboard for a brief moment before the rapid clicking restarted.
"Damn."
"Not the word I would use, but it will do," I agreed. My word was the same length, but a tad more vulgar. "He spotted me, of course, but I managed to convince him I was a Pentagon lackey idiot."
"Good job, sir," Heinz responded, with something close to a smile.
"It's what I do best," I sighed.
"I've got the sat imagery, Colonel." Shannon started a short animation of the still shots beginning at the time of the kidnapping. After a delay of about six hours, there was clear activity, with trucks moving in and out of a small compound.
"Looks fortified, sir," commented Heinz. "Maybe fifty men?"
"Yeah. Sonofagun. This isn't going to be a waltz. They've got trucks." I started to add to my list of words, all of them short and harsh.
"Probably means artillery, sir. Maybe RPGs and antiaircraft."
"Here are the shots from this morning, sir," Shannon cut in. "It looks like three of the trucks are gone, and they've not returned as of the most current data."
"They may have moved him over night." I sighed again. If Trace wasn't in the compound and alive, our job was over regardless. We had until about sunrise, and the lid would blow on the situation. Our brand of covert ops – in, done, out, and gone – would no longer be possible. I already had the plane ordered for the team to head back to DC. I hoped that if Trace had been moved that Edward would at least find someone who knew where he'd been taken. I amended that thought to include the hope that Edward would find someone and leave him alive long enough to get the information.
"Send the team maps and coordinates. I want them on the move when twilight hits."
I cleared my dry throat and fiddled with the seatbelt. "Edward, what exactly is the mailbox?"
"Code. We're looking for the package – 2nd Lt. Trace. The mailbox is where we find the package." His tone was clipped, and his eyes didn't budge from their position at twelve o'clock. He made a slight movement away from me and toward his cracked window. I knew I couldn't smell good after an anxious 24 hours without bathing. With his heightened senses, Edward was probably wallowing in my B.O., and I knew he didn't much like my scent to begin with.
It was already late afternoon, so I imagined twilight and our orders to move would come sooner than I liked. My stomach made an obscenely loud noise.
"You should eat. There are a few MREs and water bottles under the seat. And then you should try to get some rest. We'll have a long night."
I pulled out water and an MRE. "Spaghetti. Mmm," I commented sarcastically as I prepped the package. "Anything for you?"
"No." He smirked slightly as he stared out the windshield, and I stared a little too hard at his sculpted profile. "Special diet."
"Right." I took a few bites of my meal, ready-to-eat. The food was edible, if edible was defined by not having to heave the food back up. It's funny how your standards can change under different conditions. I hoped Edward's special diet tasted better. "Do you need me to take a watch? I mean, I doubt I'm the one who's going to be doing the dirty work tonight."
"No. I don't need a lot of sleep." I started listing Edward's special abilities in my head. Super speed, super hearing (and apparently overall excellent senses), knowledge of languages, and a low need for sleep. I wondered why there weren't more of him. It wasn't like the army to stop at just one. Of course, he had been deemed dangerous. I wondered if the side-effects of whatever treatment he had received had been too severe. The special diet?? That wasn't exactly a super power. Maybe he had to take a lot of special vitamins, or maybe he was like those dinosaurs in Jurassic Park who couldn't synthesize their own lysine.
My thoughts twisted together as I drowsed, and a predatory Edward's eyes gleamed in the dark at me while a T Rex shook our ambulance. The dream slowly changed, with a brief interlude where Jeff Goldblum encouraged me to go faster, and I was in another ambulance, in a street where fog mixed with the smoke from explosions. The smells came back to me; burning oil, gunpowder, the metallic tang of blood. I turned my head slowly to see Pvt. Grace's eyes slowly glaze over, his hand falling away from his bloody chest. Through the spider-webbed windshield, I saw a figure coming toward me in the mist, menacing, deadly, and I knew I would have to kill him. "No!" I yelled, and jerked awake. The sun was setting behind me, and the sky in front of me had already turned purple with twilight. My door opened, and I jumped.
"Sorry, did you call?" asked Edward. "We're about to go, and I needed to talk with Rick and Brock."
"Mm. I'm fine. I must have been dreaming." Edward closed my door and came around to the driver's side. I shook the remaining bits of the dream from my mind.
We set off on the highway toward Jalalabad, towards the border with Pakistan. We were heading into really rough terrain. It was bandit country, prime opium-producing land, and the mountains were the hideout for bandits, Taliban fighters, and Al Qaeda. Somehow, I was less intimidated by the potential dangers than I was by my own inadequacies. I wasn't trained for this, but Edward's presence was comforting in some way. He seemed confident and prepared.
After we left the city behind, full darkness descended. Twice, Edward had ordered our small convoy off the road, far enough away that we wouldn't be visible in headlights. Only moments later, vehicles would pass from the opposite direction. I wasn't sure how he knew they were approaching, but no one questioned him.
About three hours into our drive, Edward ordered us off the road again, this time having us park behind a hill which obscured us from the highway.
"We're getting very close," Edward told me as he put the ambulance into parking gear. "I'm going to take about an hour to check out the situation. We need a better fix on their numbers and deployment. I'll send Brock to sit with you."
Edward jumped out of the vehicle and walked to the humvee in front of us. He had a short conversation, and then Brock followed him back, climbing into the driver's seat. Edward proceeded to walk behind the ambulance, presumably to talk with those in the vehicle behind us. He didn't reappear.
"Sorry you have to babysit," I said apologetically. There was no moon out, and with all the vehicles off, it was dark and very quiet.
"Not an issue. No way would we leave Major Newbie in the vehicle alone." Brock took a leisurely pose on the seat.
"Do you know what the plan is?" I asked, ignoring his good-natured jab.
"We don't have a fully-fleshed plan yet, other than attempt to rescue Trace. When Edward gets back, he'll have a plan."
"Is that usually what happens?" I wondered if it would break their team rules if he answered.
"He usually comes back from scouting missions with excellent intel. He sees everything, and he can usually plan out an attack or an infiltration. His tactical senses are good. We would lose a lot more people without him."
I wanted to ask more, but the middle of a dangerous mission seemed like a terrible time for therapy.
"Behind Edward, I usually kill the most people," murmured Brock. "I can do hand-to-hand, but I'm more comfortable with weapons. It's my job to go in guns blazing, so to speak. I'm not subtle like Rick and Jack and Franky."
"Does it bother you, that you kill more people?" If he was going to bring it up, I would do what I could for him.
"I think it should, but it doesn't."
"You're doing your job, fulfilling missions and preventing more casualties to the team," I offered.
"Yes, exactly. This is my role, to take out the front line in a combat situation." Brock seemed relieved.
"You don't have to feel bad for doing your job," I assured him.
Brock seemed to relax then, and we both sat in silence as the time ticked away. I dozed intermittently.
"He's back," Brock said quietly, rousing me from a dreamless power nap. "He's a lot later than he said. He wants to talk to the team." We both got out of the car and joined the rest. Edward stood in front of us, and he was just visible in the starlight.
"Use your flashlight," Edward told Rick. Obediently, Rick flicked on a small maglite, and pointed it at Edward's chest. He began to diagram with his fingers over his uniform. "We have about five miles until we reach the compound, which is set between two foothills. It's a good defensible position, and they have about twenty men inside. They also have eight men guarding the road to the compound." I watched the others in the reflected light, and they were raptly watching the "map" Edward was sketching of the layout of the compound. Once we passed the ambush on the road, Edward would split the team into three fighting groups. Edward himself would go in first, taking out as many as he could in the heavily guarded main building. Brock and Rick would take out a secondary building holding another six or eight men, and Franky and Jack would follow Edward, picking up anyone he missed. I was to stay with Mitch and Rodney. We would be guarding the vehicles and the frequency jamming equipment. No one would be able to use radio, cell, or satellite communications for a mile radius.
"The bad news is that the intel we heard out of Bagram was good. There are a lot of men and a lot of weapons, more than any bandits should have. The good news is that while I couldn't be sure, I think Trace is still in the compound." I detected frustration in Edward's tone. I didn't think he was used to being uncertain. "That means we have to move fast and quietly, or they'll kill him before we can get to him."
"Somehow, I think we're faster," commented Rodney. "And by 'we,' I mean you."
Edward grunted in response, and the maglite caught his eyes, which seemed to be glowing a very pale gold color.
Rick and Jack asked a few more questions about the compound's layout and how far back we needed to park, and when they were satisfied, we split up into our vehicles.
When we were driving again, Edward began lecturing me. "Stay with Mitch. Under no circumstances are you to go off on your own."
"Don't worry. I have no desire to play hero."
"Mitch can keep his head on his shoulders in a fight. He knows how to get out alive. Rodney will lose his cool if things get hot. He won't remember that you're with him."
"I got it. Stay with the big bald guy, not the hot, flirty blonde guy."
Edward frowned. "Lt. Jones has a girlfriend, of sorts."
"I realize that he and Shannon appear to be together," I returned. "I'm trying for a light-hearted atmosphere so I don't puke all over your shoes."
"Your service record shows you could have qualified as a Squad Designated Marksman, at least at one time," he said without preamble. I was flustered by Edward's sudden change of subject.
"'At one time' being the operative phrase. I haven't done competitive shooting since college." No need to mention why.
"Do you know how to use my rifle?" Edward gestured with his head to the sniper's rifle behind us.
"I've used one before, but I don't like messing with other people's equipment." I didn't say aloud that I didn't like what I had to do in my head to make good shots. I could hit targets, and I could hit living targets. I'd done it before when the alternative was dying. It wasn't taking the shot that was difficult; it was living with myself afterwards.
"It's all right. The M16 won't be as useful in the ambush. I can take out half the men before the others know what's happening, but I can't get them all unless I'm very lucky. They're split on opposite sides of the road."
"Isn't Franky a sharpshooter?" I asked. I was having a hard time keeping track of everyone's skill sets. I felt a little guilt for pushing this on her.
"She'll be busy as well. This will go better if we can take out the last three men with two shots or less."
"Two shots or less?"
"One from you, one from Franky, and I'll get whoever's left. If your man doesn't make a break for it, then I've got him. It's really just a precaution. I don't want to take the chance that one of you will get hit because I wasn't fast enough." Edward paused and used the radio. "RRH calling Mama Bear."
"This is Mama Bear." Shannon's voice crackled with static.
"We're going to bed for the night."
"Understood Red Riding Hood. Watch out for the wolves. Over."
"Over."
"What was that for?" I asked.
"We're maintaining radio silence now. We're about to turn on the jamming equipment. It helps us because we cut off their communication. Unfortunately, we'll be just as much in the dark as they are." Edward switched to his headset microphone. "Mitch, is the equipment ready?"
Mitch's voice came through the headset I wore. "Ready to go."
"All right. Turn it on when I stop us in five. Everyone shut off headlights and use the night vision." Edward cut the lights on the ambulance, and the road went dark.
"Let me guess," I ventured. "You don't need night vision goggles."
"Not at all. But there is a night vision scope on the rifle. You'll need it."
Five minutes later, Edward ordered a halt to the vehicles and for Mitch to activate the frequency-jamming equipment.
We all quietly exited the vehicles and gathered near Edward. Franky was already setting up her rifle on the hood of the humvee, and Edward helped me set up next to her.
"If you see a head come up over that hill in your scope, you have to fire," Edward informed me. "Don't change the angle now, or you'll lose the shot. Edward showed Franky where to watch for her target. "I'd prefer if you didn't have to take these shots. I think we're far enough that no one from the compound would hear, but sometimes sound carries."
Edward suddenly tilted his head, and then he peered down the side road. "They've set up an IED in the road. We'll have to off-road to avoid it."
"Show me," Brock asked. He had night vision binoculars out. Edward pointed out what he described as a disturbance in the soil, and after a minute, Brock agreed that he could see it.
"This should be easy," Edward said, clapping Brock on the back. He checked my scope again, and then seemed to coil like a spring. The crescent moon was up, and I could see that Edward's face had hardened and his eyes had darkened under his angry brow line. He looked frightening and awesome. I sensed he was preparing for the fight, and his words to Rodney in DC came back to me. If I look like I'm going to fight, you can assume someone is going to die.
"Ready?" he asked the team.
"Yes, sir!" we returned in a whispered cheer. And then he was gone.
I bent to my scope, watching with my eye unblinking for any sign of movement. Not a head or a man, just a target, I told myself. I used a few mental exercises Charlie had taught me for zoning out thoughts and staying calm.
It was all for nothing, but I certainly wasn't complaining. Neither Franky or I had needed to take our shots. It was less than three minutes before Edward was back. His eyes were bright, and his hair was windblown from the speed of his running. There was no way to describe him, except to say that he was alive and vibrant with a terrible beauty. He just killed eight men.
"Let's go. We need to get to the end of this valley where the road cuts up to the east. I want us on top of them before anyone tries to call one of these guys on their phone." Edward handed a phone to Rodney.
"That's a high end sat phone. Why does a bandit have a sat phone?" asked Rodney, turning the phone back and forth in his hands.
"Very good question. Don't lose it. Shannon will want to see it. There will be more questions after you see the compound."
We split into our vehicles, and I glanced at Edward from the corner of my eye. "I guess you didn't have trouble getting them all."
"None to speak of." He looked at me. "Are you afraid?"
"Of this mission? Of what comes next?"
"No. Are you afraid of me?"
I had to consider that question carefully. "I am impressed with your skills." That sounded better than what I was really thinking – that his speed and power were combined with incredible male beauty and a fascinating mind. And a scent I could describe only as alluring. I was hanging on to professionalism by the thinnest thread. "But I'm not afraid of you. I don't think you would hurt me."
"Don't believe that," Edward demanded harshly. "When I'm fighting, I can lose control. It would be very bad for you if you came near me when I was like that." The steering wheel made a cracking noise; he released one hand which dropped into his lap and forcibly relaxed his shoulders.
"Is that what happened that first time?" I remembered the way he had yelled at me, commanding that I leave his presence. It was the first time I had noticed how displeased he was at my smell. I pulled my arms down tightly against my sides and shifted a little away from him. There was no way for him to escape me in the cab. I remembered him cracking the window earlier in the day, and I felt a hot flush come over my face.
"Something like that. Just, please, stay with Mitch. Don't leave the vehicles." For the first time, Edward turned to me and looked deep into my eyes with his light golden ones. His face was pleading, and my breath caught. I lost myself for a moment, caught by the sincerity in his eyes. It was such a contrast from the harsh demeanor from moments ago. I had a brief insight into the man that he was instead of the super soldier he had been molded into. "Major Swan?"
"Uh, yes. I already told you I would stay with Mitch." I turned away, disgusted with myself for losing control. He had superpowers of strength and speed, but his most lethal weapon might have been his penetrating gaze and his chiseled jaw. Gah.
I didn't have time to be embarrassed because we had reached the point where Edward wanted us to stop. We were close enough, apparently, to jam their communications but far enough that they wouldn't have heard us arrive. He and the others involved in the assault would hike from the vehicles to the compound. I climbed out of the ambulance, shouldering the M16. I joined Mitch and Rodney who were similarly armed as the others set off. The night was chilly, but I was far too tense to feel it through the uniform.
"With all the communication out, how will we know when to join them or if they need our help?" I asked quietly.
"This is like a 10 second stroll for Edward. He'll let us know." Mitch was calm and relaxed, at least on the surface.
"Hey, how come no one ever warned me about not challenging Edward to a fight?" asked Rodney in a whisper. "I mean, we all see the results of what he can do, but we never really see him do anything. How was I supposed to know?"
Mitch laughed soundlessly. "I guess no one thought you were that clueless." I shook my head.
"How long will this take?" I asked. My nerves were starting to fray as worst-case scenarios started to crop up in my head.
"It will be a while before they all get there. Edward will be sweeping for booby traps. The others will move as fast as they can. Once they're in the compound, I imagine it will be fast. Edward will knock out as many as he can on his way to finding Trace, and others will secure the compound behind him." It was the longest speech I'd heard from Mitch.
"The tricky part is that Edward has to get to Trace before anyone sounds an alarm. You can bet there's someone ready to kill Trace if a rescue mission is in progress," Rodney said grimly, no trace of his characteristic humor. "Once he finds Trace, he might be stuck defending him. It depends on what condition the kid is in."
"Kid?" I asked. I didn't know much about our "package," other than that his mother was a senator from Maine and that his rank was second lieutenant.
"He took early graduation from college. He's just turned 21." Rodney paused at my surprised look. "We got sent the file earlier when we were waiting at the gas depot. Didn't Edward show you?"
"No. I napped for a while." I wondered if Edward had planned to share the information with me; it wasn't like I needed it to stand here at the humvee with Mitch and Rodney.
The quiet of the chilly night was broken by the staccato sounds of machine gun fire. All three of us unconsciously changed our stances, grasping our weapons more securely. It was unlikely that anyone would get as far as we were, but we were directly in the road. Memories surfaced like disturbed leaves from the bottom of a stagnant pond. I was used to being on the edge of a skirmish; the medic teams were often in the line of fire although not participating in the actual fight. The nerves, the anxiety, the churning stomach were all old acquaintances. I worried that the plan would fall apart, that our team was underprepared, and that someone would be hurt or killed. I worried that I would hesitate or freeze if I was forced to take action. It was irrational, knowing his abilities, but I was afraid for Edward. I suspected that he felt responsible for every action of every team member during the operation. I could also feel the tension roiling off Rodney, who was muttering under his breath, his eyes transfixed where the road disappeared around a bend in the foothills. Mitch stood ready, but somehow unperturbed.
Another round of fire sounded, causing me to flinch slightly. The adrenaline surging through me sharpened every sense, my fight or flight response in high gear.
And then he was there before us in a swirl of wind. "Come on, we need the vehicles." Edward jumped into the ambulance, and I climbed into the passenger seat. I felt myself coming down rapidly from my adrenaline high; although I knew danger was still present, I felt secure knowing Edward was next to me.
"What happened?" I asked.
He smirked as we lurched up a steep and bumpy incline, and I saw in the dash lights that he was as alive, as vivid as when he had returned from disrupting the ambush. For a moment, the harshness of his life had been lifted and he was just himself, doing his job and doing it well. "The plan was good. The team was good. We found Trace, but there is a slight complication. Stay with me, close to me, when we get into the compound."
A moment later, he was parking between Mitch and Rodney in an open area with several armored vehicles. The three buildings, if they could be called that, were makeshift structures of odds and ends of various materials – siding, wood, concrete block in some places. They were roofed in some corrugated material. There was a distinct contrast between the armored vehicles and the shoddy, slapdash buildings. More attention had been given to a concrete block wall behind us; the armored vehicles could be used to block the entrance. There was natural protection on the far side of the buildings from the steep slope of the foothill.
"Come on. In here. Mitch, I need you. Rodney, see to Franky. She was hit." Edward practically dragged me behind him as he entered the largest building. I barely had time to worry about Franky as I hurried after him. Rick and Jack were dragging bodies as we passed them, and I turned my head away from the blood, my nose wrinkling from the smell. How many had been killed tonight?
We must have reached the back of the building when Edward pulled open a door. In a small room, an American soldier lay on an odd table, unconscious and restrained. His face was purple with bruises, and it looked like the hand I could see was broken, the fingers swollen and distorted.
"Sick," said Mitch in disgust.
"He's out; he's not feeling it right now. I need you to look at this table. It's wired." Edward looked intently at Mitch, and I remembered that his specialties were explosives and vehicles. Mitch dropped to the floor and slid under the table on his back, a maglite out. He flicked the light back and forth. Edward's head cocked slightly as he watched Mitch intently.
"Should I grab the medical supplies? I could work on Trace while we wait."
"No. He can't be touched until Mitch analyzes these explosives."
"No timer. I don't see anything for remote detonation." Edward released a breath as Mitch kept flashing the light back and forth. My eyes got wider as I realized I was in a room with a bomb which could go off at any moment. "This is sophisticated. It would take me a while to defuse. It would be easier to just explode the damn thing after we get him out." There was a long pause while Mitch continued his work. I heard Edward hiss and Mitch curse simultaneously. "There's a pressure switch. We can't move the kid."
Poor 2nd Lt. Trace took that moment to groan and shift, causing all three of us to jump. "I guess that's why they tied him down," commented Mitch. "There's something wrong with this setup. It's too good. This isn't something you learn in IED school, and these switches are not easy to come by."
"This is adding up to something we weren't expecting," agreed Edward. "I think we need to alert our Papa. Both of you stay put. You," he turned to me, "touch nothing and pay attention to anything Mitch tells you."
"Yes, sir," I responded automatically. He was gone in between blinks. "Maybe you should start calling him The Flash instead of Red Riding Hood." The Flash wore a red suit, right?
Mitch grunted. "I don't make that crap up. Blame Shannon or the Colonel." He was kneeling now, brushing wires gently with one sausage-sized fingertip. He looked like he was counting in his head, his lips moving silently, and I decided not to speak unless spoken to. I was not interested in being the cause of him losing track of his count.
Trace groaned again, and started moving more vigorously. "Try to keep him still, but don't push down on him," barked Mitch. He was as tense I'd seen him yet. I stepped hurriedly over to Trace's side.
"Shhh," I hushed, trying to calm him without disturbing his body. "We're the rescue team. We need you to keep still."
Trace's eyelids fluttered, and blinked rapidly, looking into my face. "It hurts," he croaked out, and one tear slipped out of his eye. I could see now that his other hand had been broken as well. He'd been beaten badly, and probably tortured. I could only imagine what he looked like under his uniform since every inch of exposed skin was either purple, red, or swollen.
"We know it hurts, but we can't risk moving you yet. Do you remember anything about the attack?"
"Mom? Is she okay?" Trace's eyes started to flit nervously, and I had a feeling I was losing him to delirium.
Edward reappeared with a medical bag. "Give him morphine. Everything will be easier if he's under."
I fiddled through the medical bag, finding what I needed. I got up to inject him, and Edward ripped Trace's sleeve open for me with a quick flick of his hands.
"What if I get the others to move him, and I hold down the bench?" asked Edward, turning to Mitch.
"It could work, but it would have to be fast," Mitch replied. "And you'd need to apply almost the same force as his weight."
"I'm injecting you now, please try to be still," I encouraged Trace.
"I can do fast," Edward smirked. "How much do you think he weighs?"
"I'd say 180," Mitch responded absently. He was still peering at the underside of the table.
"I agree," I chimed in. I didn't consider myself an expert, but it sounded right.
"How far away do you need to be for safety?" asked Edward.
"I'm calculating. This bomb is definitely overkill. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was planning to take out the compound with this bomb at the same time they took out Trace."
"Let's do their dirty work, then," said Edward suddenly. "Get the other buildings wired, and then we'll blow the whole thing. But we need to get some of the men out of here."
"Oh? Did you leave any of them?" Mitch appeared surprised.
"The warlord here and his band of not-so-merry men had made a habit of taking men and boys from farms they considered unproductive. Most of the men in the ambush were cannon fodder, just kids forced into service. Their brothers and fathers were the ones in that smaller building. We've got them under guard, but we didn't kill them. Rodney's talking to them now. If we let them go, they're going to disperse. There's no one left here to terrorize them anymore." Edward's face had grown increasingly grim during his speech.
"What about the boys in the ambush?" I asked quietly.
"Oh, I knocked them out. There was one real bandit with them; he was the one with the phone. He won't be waking up." Edward's lips were pressed together in a tight line. I felt a wave of relief in learning he had spared these boys.
"I'll set up the explosives in the other buildings now," said Mitch. "We can move the kid when I'm done. What kind of time are we talking about?"
"I want everyone out in forty-five minutes. Some of the trucks that left yesterday may be returning before dawn."
"Yes, sir." Mitch trotted out, leaving us behind with the now-unconscious Trace.
"What would your superiors say about letting all these men go?" I asked.
"Do you mean Heinz and McCarty, or the ones above them?" he asked back.
"The ones above."
"They wouldn't like it. Technically, I'm letting terrorists go free. But then again, they don't have to find out. None of the men we're releasing will be announcing what we did to anyone."
"How do you know there aren't a few bandits left among the remaining men?"
"Trust, me, I know. But even if I didn't, the remaining men would take him out before he took ten steps outside this compound."
I was startled by crackling sounds through my headset, followed by Brock's voice. "We asked this one all the questions you gave us, Major. We know his English is fine, but he's not answering us."
"Don't worry about it, Brock. I'm not taking him, and we can't leave him alive."
"Yes, sir."
I heard a single shot, muffled by the thin walls of the building. I flinched.
"I'm sorry, Major Swan. This is what we do. What I do." Edward looked at me as though giving me a warning, but I felt I could see something deeper in his eyes. A little sadness, maybe. "Stay here."
"I know, and don't touch anything," I added in.
"You learn fast. I'm going to bring some of those concrete blocks in."
Edward made three trips, building up a pile of concrete in the room with us. "It's almost exactly 180 pounds," he said. "I can load them on the table after everyone is at a safe distance. Then I'll stroll out, and we'll blow the compound by remote."
"How bad is Franky?"
"Not bad. She took a bullet in the upper arm. It went straight through. There was blood, but it didn't hit any major blood vessels." Edward's nose twitched, and I wondered if he was as bothered by the smell of blood as I was. It didn't make sense for an assassin, though.
My headset crackled again. "All the men are gone, sir," Rodney announced.
"Good. Search that building for anything useful – documents or computers – and then check the trucks while you're at it."
"Sir!"
Brock came to the door. "He had this on him." He tossed Edward a small object, which Edward caught. It was a USB flash drive. Edward examined it briefly, and then tossed it back to Brock.
"You hang onto it. I'm heading out last. We need to get the phones and the computers to Shannon." I realized the implication was that Edward didn't trust that he would make it out. Brock nodded his understanding, and tucked the flash drive into the velcroed pocket on his chest.
Jack and Rick appeared next, with Mitch on their heels. Edward looked around the room, his face set in serious concentration. I wondered what he was thinking, or deciding.
"The charges are set?" he asked Mitch.
"Yes, sir. Remote is here." He held out a small device. "It's got enough range for us to get out of harm's way. I'm just going to add a detonator here." He leaned over and attached a small device under the table. "It'll all go at once."
"All the documents and computers loaded?" he asked Rick and Jack.
"Yes, sir," Jack responded. "And Franky is in the back of the ambulance."
"Take Major Swan," he told Jack. "Send out the first humvee with Rick and Franky. You drive the ambulance. When Mitch and Brock bring out Trace, get him in the back of the ambulance with Major Swan and Rodney. Mitch and Brock will take the last humvee. When you get to safety, let me know, and I'll join you shortly."
"Yes, sir!" We exited the building swiftly, leaving Mitch, Brock, and Edward. He had just decided who would stand with him while they made the dangerous transfer, removing Trace from the exploding table. The first humvee pulled away as I climbed into the back of the ambulance. I checked over the medical supplies, fidgeting as I waited for the men to appear or for the end of existence. We would need to set up an IV line for Trace once we were moving again; he seemed dehydrated. There were cold packs, so we could start taking down the swelling in his hands. I wasn't interested in trying to set anything; hands were too delicate. He needed a skilled doctor. I knew I was jerking erratically from one object to the next.
"He knows what he's doing," Rodney said, interrupting my nervous fidgeting.
"He seems like he does," I agreed, but my hands were shaking. It wasn't so bad when I'd been in the room with the bomb. At least then I'd known what was happening.
Brock and Mitch appeared in the open back door of the ambulance, and Rodney helped them get Trace settled.
"How was the transfer?" asked Rodney.
Brock shook his head, and I noted that Mitch looked a little pale under the bright lights in the back of the ambulance. Neither of these responses gave me confidence about the next phase of the operation. Edward would have to manually add the concrete blocks to the table while keeping the force constant, if I understood how this worked. If the transfer to get Trace off the table was difficult with three of them, I wondered how Edward would manage on his own.
Brock and Mitch jumped out the ambulance, and within seconds we were lurching down the steep road. Trace groaned in his sleep when we would hit a particularly large bump. I gingerly felt his ribs. None of them appeared broken, and his breathing was fine.
The headsets crackled, loud enough that I thought I could hear Rodney's as well as my own. "We're at a safe distance, Major."
"Roger, Mitch. Don't hit that button until you see me. Over."
Rodney opened the back of the ambulance and stepped out into the night. "I can't stand the waiting," he griped. I followed him out. We were the only ones without a window; we wouldn't be able to see when Edward arrived. Mitch, or whoever was driving the humvee behind us, switched off his headlights.
Three things happened very rapidly, but not all at once. The sky lit up with a bright red flare in the direction of the compound. My headset screeched so loudly in my ears that I reached up to pull it off defensively, barely aware that Rodney was doing the same with his. And then I was hit with a roaring sound and the pressure wave of the blast.
AN2: Sorry for the evil cliffie. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not sorry at all. ;)
Persephone's Folly has begun a second Sherlock Holmes/Carlisle adventure. The first one was great, and this one has started off with gore, suspense, and Carlisle(!). She's a fave author on my profile.
I will always encourage anyone who listens to read stories by ebhg and Justine Lark. They're also in my faves list!