Scarecrow Returns

ARCTIC ICE FIELD

4 APRIL, 0630 HOURS

4 HOURS 30 MINUTES TO DEADLINE

AT 6:30 that morning Schofield called the group together, all eight of them, four Marines, four civilians.

He told them what he knew: that a group calling itself the Army of Thieves had taken Dragon Island and would be ready to set off some kind of atmospheric weapon at 11:00 A.M. local time. A missile attack had failed and aerial assaults would be likewise ineffective, which was why they were being sent in. They were one of only two groups close enough to get to Dragon in time by sea.

“The Army of Thieves?” Mother said. “Never heard of ’em.”

Schofield said, “Doesn’t sound like anybody has—at least until recently. The White House is sending through whatever intel they can find. Apparently, the DIA has something and the CIA is checking.”

The Kid said, “Why the delay in setting off the weapon?”

“It takes time to prime the weapon’s principal element, some small uranium spheres, and they’re not fully primed yet. That’s why we have this window.”

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

“Closer than you think,” Schofield said. “We need to prep all our gear. After that, it’ll take us nearly three hours just to get there. And the island itself is seriously fortified. Even if they open the front door for us, we’ll have maybe an hour to get in and get to the weapon in time, then disable or destroy it. And somehow I don’t think they’ll be opening the front door for us.”

He turned to the four civilians: Zack, Emma, Hartigan and Chad.

“But four Marines is not enough to do this. We need as many bodies as we can get and if you’re willing to come along and help us, I will gladly take you. However, let me say this very clearly from the outset: this is not compulsory. None of you has to come. We’ll be a secondary team—I repeat, a secondary, back-up team—but if the primary SEAL unit fails to resolve this, we will be going in. And that will be ugly.

“So none of you has any illusions about what ‘ugly’ means, let me tell you now: it means shooting to kill, bloody wounds, broken bones and dead bodies right in your face. So, if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to and no one will hold it against you.

“But . . .” he held up a finger, “if you do come, then I ask only one thing of you: that you obey my orders. However crazy or bizarre they seem, there will always be some logic to them. In return, I promise that I will not leave you. If you are captured or caught, while I still have breath in my body, I will come for you. Got that? Good. All right then. Who’s in and who’s out. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The group fell silent.

The civilians variously stared at the flickering gas flame or at their feet, deciding what to do.

Zack spoke first, swallowing, then nodding. “I’m in.”

“Me, too,” Emma Dawson said uncertainly. “Although I’m not much with a gun. I fired one once at my uncle’s ranch.”

“Don’t worry, honey babe,” Mother said gently. “Give me a couple of minutes with you and you’ll be a kick-ass bitch from hell, just like me.”

Jeff Hartigan snorted. “This is ridiculous. What chance have you got—four Marines and some untrained civilians—against a dug-in military force? Like hell I’m going. I’m staying here and so is Chad.”

“No, I’m not,” Chad said quietly. “I’ll go.”

“What?” his boss whirled.

Schofield turned, too. He hadn’t expected this.

“I said I’m going.”

“You will do no such thing,” Hartigan said. “You’ll stay here with me while these others go off and get themselves killed.”

The assistant shook his head. Schofield wondered if he’d ever stood up to his boss before.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hartigan, but I think we have to do something—”

“You think we have to do something,” Hartigan mimicked. “Please. Chad, I thought you were smarter than this.”

Chad bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Schofield said, “I’m not. It’s good to have you aboard, Chad.” He turned to Hartigan. “Sir, if everyone else is going, staying here on your own does present certain dangers. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider—”

“I’ll be perfectly fine, thank you very much, Captain,” Hartigan said. “You are the ones who should rethink your positions. Idiots.”

Schofield just nodded and said no more.

They spent the next half-hour hurriedly preparing for the mission: the Marines field-stripped their weapons, checked their mags; Zack loaded up Bertie with ammunition; and Mother even gave Emma and Chad a quick lesson in marksmanship.

When Schofield saw that Zack was bringing the experimental wrist guard, he grabbed it and sent off a message to Dave Fairfax:

SCRW: SOMETHING’S COME UP. SOMETHING BAD. GEARING UP FOR BATTLE. CAN YOU LOOK UP A TERRORIST GROUP CALLED THE “ARMY OF THIEVES” FOR ME, PLUS AN OLD SOVIET ARCTIC BASE CALLED “DRAGON ISLAND.” ANY INFO WOULD BE APPRECIATED. GOTTA RUN. OUT.

He then ordered everyone, civilians included, to put on drysuits in case they fell into the freezing water. Schofield and his Marines wore new snow-camouflaged drysuits—they looked like regular battle fatigues, only they were made of ultralight watertight material that retained body heat—with their gun-belts and holsters on the outside. On their backs, as always, all the Marines carried their signature weapon, the Armalite MH-12 Maghook, a magnetic grappling hook.

The civilians wore simple gray drysuits with hooded parkas on top for extra warmth; and since they didn’t have combat boots, they just wore their cold-weather Arctic boots, a mixture of heavy-duty Nikes and Salomons.

When everyone was ready, the seven members of the departing team boarded the two assault boats and set off on the long journey south to Dragon Island.

Jeff Hartigan watched them go, remaining at the camp, alone. His last words to Schofield were, “You’re a fool, Captain. You must realize that you cannot win this.”

Schofield didn’t reply. He just started his boat and pulled away.