The Ghost Pattern

…52

Alex fidgeted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. She sat at the root of a tree, leaning against the wide trunk that had her back covered, and kept her eyes scanning the horizon line constantly. Blake sat across from her, watching in the opposite direction, both of them keeping their Tavors clutched tightly, ready to fire.

They’d found a small clearing in the woods, somewhere near Mayak, a small town lost in the swampy expanses of forest. Every minute or so, she checked the time, impatiently waiting for Sam and Lou to be back with some news. They’d been gone for a while; she was getting worried.

A snapped twig made her heart stop for a second, and a wave of adrenaline surged through her body. She sprung to her feet, wincing. The sudden move brought a sharp pain to her ribs, right next to her sternum. She positioned her weapon, ready to fire, and listened intently. The sounds of rustling, wet leaves were getting closer, clearer, and more discernible. Someone was coming.

She signaled to Blake, who hopped to his feet, silent as a feline, and lifted his Tavor in a shooting stance. She couldn’t see anyone, and, judging by how Blake scanned the forest, neither did he.

They appeared from behind a tree close by, Lou supporting Sam in his unstable, limping walk. Relieved, she lowered her weapon, but Lou frowned the second she did that. Surprised and worried, she asked Lou a silent question, raising her eyebrows. His reply came in the form of a silent gesture that meant, “They’re everywhere.”

Great.

They huddled together, and while Lou kept guard, Sam briefed them in a choppy, labored whisper.

“We have a lead,” he said, still out of breath. “There’s an abandoned ICBM site only twenty klicks from here, that way,” he added, pointing northeast. “No one’s used it in many years, not since ’89, when the arms race slowed down.”

“That’s it?” Alex asked, a little disappointed. “An abandoned missile silo doesn’t seem like much of a lead, Sam.”

“So, then why are there trucks loaded with food and supplies going in there every couple of days?”

“That’s more like it,” she whispered, letting a wide grin appear on her face. “Let’s get going.”

“Gotta be careful, we already ran into a couple of trucks filled with armed men heading back toward the hangar. I’m thinking cleanup team. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Let me get precise coordinates,” Lou said.

He took out his SatSleeve-equipped phone, wrote a quick message to DigiWorld, describing what they were looking for, then sent it together with a screenshot of the map view with their current GPS location. Within two minutes, a discrete vibration alerted him and he confirmed with a thumbs-up to the rest of the team that he had the coordinates.

He showed Alex his phone. DigiWorld had sent maps, routing, terrain views, and infrared scans of their target location. Infrared scans showed several clustered heat signatures. Their only lead looked better and better by the minute.

Lou signaled them to start moving.

“I think we should call for extraction at this time,” Sam said, leaning into the support offered by Lou’s arm.

“What if they’re not there?” Alex replied. “What if it’s not them? And I think CIA would need a couple of days to organize an extraction, right?”

“A few days? In this hell hole?” Blake asked. “Not acceptable… sorry. We can’t wait. Who knows what could happen in a couple of days. We need to move now.”

“Affirmative,” she replied. “It’s only twenty klicks. Let’s go there, see what we find. Then we’ll figure out options,” she added, briefly looking at Blake, then averting her eyes.

What she wouldn’t say was, “Let’s see how many are still alive.”