CHAPTER 26
“You’re sure she’s going to show?” asked the captain.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re sure Royal’s going to try to take her out? Actually kill her?”
“Yep.”
He shook his head. “Still hard to believe.”
“Believe it, Cap.”
“Recce One, status?” the captain called over the radio. He was nervous. Understandably so. This was his first mission with his first command. Not his first mission in the field, but the first since he had been placed in charge of a detachment, and it was a thoroughly illegal action against his own countrymen on domestic soil, on the word of a warrant officer he had only just met. To his credit, he had not recanted one fraction of the commitment he had expressed in the major’s office, but he was nervous, nonetheless. Surely he had not expected his nascent career to end so quickly after it had begun, slain in infancy by his bad luck to inherit the ruins of three detachments, a legacy of (Constantine would have argued minor) corruption, and Constantine’s newest pickle.
“From Recce One, they’re setting up the cameras. No sign of Royal.”
“Recce Two, same.”
“Recce Three, same.”
They had been in position since early that morning, long before Ashiro and his crew had arrived. Earlier than necessary, as it turned out. The reconnaissance elements had taken to their rooftops about the park in the first light of day, and then hours had passed without anything happening for them to see.
Either Ritter had indeed managed to keep the secret of the interview location to the last moment, or else Royal was even sneakier than Constantine had suggested. Constantine doubted the latter, and said as much to the young captain. The recce guys were good operators, and they knew what to look for. If Royal was here, they’d have seen some sign of them by now. Meanwhile the blogger, Ashiro, had arrived with a crew of three, two of whom had moved out apparently to take up lookout positions of their own while Ashiro and the fourth began setting up their cameras. Amateur, but at least they were thinking about it.
“She’ll show,” said Constantine, “and Royal will show, but with any luck, when we show, Royal will try to back out easy. They’re not looking for a fight. They’re looking for a clean hit.” Constantine was doing his best to reassure and calm the captain. What he said was true, to the best of his knowledge. There was no reason for this to get messy. Coming in force, overwhelming them, establishing clear tactical dominance, would help to ensure that. Having the whole Det onboard was a true blessing, numbers their greatest weapon. For a hit like this, Royal would come small, probably less than ten bodies.
“Alpha One, this is Recce Three. I’ve got something.”
“Send it.”
“Two viks just pulled into a parking lot. One female with a dog exited the trail vik, and then both vehicles left. They’re going east on Tindale now. She’s going into the park.”
“Keep eyes on her. Description of vehicles?”
“Gray sedan and dark four-door hatch-back-type car. What do you call it?”
“Cross-over?” offered someone in the truck.
“Station wagon,” said Constantine over the radio.
“I think they call ‘em cross-overs these days,” replied Recce Three.
“It’s a wagon. What color?”
“Dark blue, I think.”
“Copy. Gray sedan and dark blue wagon, eastbound on Tindale. Keep an eye on the female and dog.”
“Recce Three copies.”
Constantine and the captain shared a glance. “Does Royal have any females?” the captain asked.
“None that I know, but I didn’t meet the whole task force. Just the cells I deployed with.”
“All right. You think it’s them, though?”
Constantine frowned and looked out the window of the SUV. “Yeah, I do.”
“Roger,” said the captain.
Aside from the three two-man reconnaissance elements, their detachment waited in two SUVs less than a block away from the east parking lot of the park. Melody’s communiques had indicated that that would be the nearest access point to the interview location. Based on the reports of the recce units, her plan was bearing out. Ashiro had begun setting up for the interview near the eastern head of a small bridge, just about a hundred yards west of the eastern lot. Recce also reported that the terrain was passable from there, if they should have to drive into the park itself. So far, so good.
“Still no sign of our package,” mused the captain.
“She’s got over an hour yet.”
“Yeah.”
“We just have to wait.” They would wait here in the trucks, somewhat removed from the park but ready to roll in heavy. There was no point in trying to distribute their force closer at hand. They would be identified immediately by any trained observer, even in plain clothes, and the captain and Constantine (after some discussion) had decided that they would undertake this mission in full kit. It had a better psychological effect on any potential enemy, and it was safer for the men. If they were going to operate this far from their mandate, they wanted it to be as safe as they could make it. Saving Melody Ritter was the goal, but not at the expense of one of their own. Should events turn sour, she would just have to survive until they could reach her. If she even showed.
“Recce One is contact the gray sedan and dark-blue wagon,” reported Recce One. “Turning north on Jackson.”
“Alpha One copies,” replied the captain. “Track them. Pass updates as able.”
“Roger. The sedan is in the lead. Looks like both vehicles are pretty full. I see people in all the windows.”
“Gotta be Royal,” muttered Constantine.
The captain nodded.
“They’re pulling over, now. Trail vik is… One pax exiting trail vik, with a bag. Lead vik, the sedan, is proceeding north. The wagon is not following.”
“See if you can get license numbers or other identifying features,” said the captain. “The sedan is going north?”
“Affirm. Working on license numbers.”
“Copy. Break break: Recce Two, sedan might be coming to you. See if you can pick it up from Recce One.”
“Recce Two copies.”
The captain fell silent and listened to the two reconnaissance teams compare notes. “The wagon just parked in the east parking lot,” Recce One added.
“From Recce Two, we’re contact the sedan.”
“Good,” said the captain. “Keep an eye on both vehicles. Did you see where the guy with the case went, who got out of the wagon?”
“Into a building south of me, we think,” said Recce One. “We couldn’t see exactly.”
“Roger. Probably setting up a recce or sniper of their own.”
“Recce One copies.”
A few minutes later, Recce Two reported in: “Sedan is turning into the north parking lot of the park. Door opening, and… one male and one dog exiting. Okay, the vik is pulling out again. Heading east, back toward Jackson.”
“Alpha One copies all.” The captain unkeyed his microphone and looked to Constantine. “What do you think?”
“One body on the south side, one body on the north side, one body on overwatch. That means their team is small. They may only have a couple more guys. No more vehicles, probably. We need to find that overwatch guy. If they’ve got a sniper, that’s bad juju for us.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his transmit button again. “All Recce, Alpha One. The guy who went into the buildings on the east side might be setting up as a sniper. Try to find him. Check roof-tops and upper story windows that might have a view to the meeting site.”
Each reconnaissance team rogered up in order, and they began coordinating on that radio net.
“You want to send a couple of guys to look for him?” asked Constantine.
The captain thought for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No. Not yet. I don’t want to blow our cover yet.”
Constantine nodded. “Yeah, I’m leaning the same way. So far, they’ve got one sniper at most.
They won’t try anything crazy with one sniper if we have the rest of them dead to rights.”
“We’ll have to hope so, if the recce guys can’t find him before we have to move.”
“Update from Recce One: The wagon pulled into the east parking lot and parked. We are contact the sedan coming back from the north, now. Looks like they might be consolidating. Stand by.” They waited.
“From Recce One, the sedan is parking near the wagon. Multiple pax exiting.”
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“Count?” asked the captain.
“Three ADMs. They’re getting into the wagon.”
“How many in the wagon?”
“Unknown.”
“We know the wagon dropped off two,” said Constantine. He had been making notes with a grease pen on a plastic pad attached to his forearm. “They probably had four or five originally. So three in the wagon, plus three, makes six? Worst case seven or eight if they really stuffed people in, but I doubt it.”
The captain nodded. “What are they doing now?” he asked over the radio.
“Nothing,” said Recce One. “All pax are in the wagon now, just sitting.”
“They’re doing what we’re doing,” said Constantine. “They’ve got their recce set; now they’re just waiting for Ritter.”
“Yeah.” The captain keyed his mic again. “Keep an eye on ‘em, and on Ashiro and his crew, and keep looking for that possible sniper. Report any changes.”
Again, the three lookout teams replied in order. The captain, with nothing more that he could do, sat back and rubbed his lips. Constantine could see his wheels turning.
“We’re good, sir,” he said. “We’re ready. Try to relax.”
“Yeah,” replied the captain. “We’re good.”
Morning passed. The reconnaissance teams swept every rooftop in view, and every fire escape and balcony and window they could see, but they saw no one. In the SUVs, the remaining men sat quietly in their kit, eyes generally downcast, lost in their own thoughts.
“From Recce Three, movement in the south parking lot. Taxicab. Single female exiting.”
“Matches Ritter’s description?” asked the captain.
“What I can see. She’s going north, into the park. I’ve still got the female with dog walking on the paths down here.”
Constantine said to the captain, “Target labels.” The captain nodded.
“Let’s get some target labels,” he transmitted. “The female with the dog will be Tango One and Canine One. The male with the dog on the north side will be Tango Two and Canine Two.” He glanced over at Constantine and said, “Get ready to roll.”
Constantine nodded. “I’m up on Recce.” He meant that he was listening to and able to transmit on the radio frequency being used by the reconnaissance teams and the captain. It was unnecessary to say; that had been part of the comm plan from the beginning. It was just a reassurance as he stepped out of the one SUV and climbed into the passenger seat of the other. His vehicle would lead any assault they made. No one would fire a weapon without his say-so.
“It’s definitely Ritter,” said Recce Three. “She just made contact with Ashiro. They’re at the cameras. Tango One and Canine One are moving north, going toward the cameras.”
“Tango Two and Canine Two are closing from the north,” said Recce Two.
“From Recce One, pax dismounting from the wagon. Three males. They’re splitting up. Two going north, one going south.”
“They’re setting containment,” transmitted Constantine from his vehicle.
“Vehicle package, proceed toward the east parking lot. Recce One, can you see how many are still in the wagon?”
“Recce Three, negative.”
The SUVs started to move, Constantine’s in the lead, pulling onto Jackson and turning north, toward the east park entrance. Constantine turned around, looking back at his men. “No one shoots until I give the word,” he reiterated. “I don’t care if they’re pointing guns or even shooting at you. You take cover, but you do not shoot back unless I say so. Any questions about this?”
They shook their heads and said nothing. He nodded. In the trail vehicle, their detachment commander would be issuing a similar reminder. As if on cue, he heard the captain come over the Recce net: “Recce teams, vehicle package is rolling. Weapons ready, but you do not fire without my authorization or the chief’s. Even if we’re being shot up. I said it in the brief and I’m saying it again now. All Recce, roger up.”
“Recce One copies.”
“Recce Two copies.”
“Recce Three copies.”
“Chief, slow-roll us into the lot,” said the captain. “Break: Recce Three, we’re about to turn into the parking lot. What do you see?”
“I’m contact Tango One and Tango Two and both canines. They’re all about twenty meters from Ritter. The other three dismounts spread out into the trees along the east side, north and south. I can still see one to the south, not sure about the other two.”
“The wagon?”
“No movement.”
Constantine was looking out his window. “Contact the wagon,” he transmitted. “Two ADMs, driver and front passenger. They see us.”
“Tango Two, PID weapon!” reported one of the Recce units, then, “Ritter is down! Ritter just went down.”
“Mobility, go! Everyone, hold your fire,” sent the captain. “Recce, who’s shooting?”
Constantine did his best to listen as his vehicle jumped a curb and then rocked and roared through gardens under the trees on the east periphery of the park, tearing a path onto the snowy lawn beyond. There were the cameras in the white field before him. Melody Ritter, a dark body on the snow. Off to the right, a man shooting a pistol at Ashiro. Canine Two—a military working dog he knew with instant certainty—raced toward the cameraman.
“Tango Two, shots fired. Ashiro is down.”
“Tango One, PID weapon. Canine One is loose. Running away.”
He saw Ashiro fall, followed by Canine Two, the northerly dog, which tumbled and slid across the snow due to its speed.
“Canine Two is down—what the—”
“What?” snapped Constantine over the radio. “Recce Two, what?”
A moment, and then, “We’re good.”
“Who else is shooting?” he demanded over the radio as his truck slid to a stop. It twisted in the process, presenting Constantine’s door toward the camera crew and the woman with the pistol.
No one answered his question, but, “Wagon on your six,” reported Recce One. “Vik two, wagon coming up fast. Doors opening.”
Constantine was out, now, on his feet, leveling his rifle at the woman, Tango One. “Drop your weapon!”
She turned her pistol on him and he pressed his trigger once. Snap. She fell backward. “Drop your weapon!” he screamed again, advancing on her, trying to establish dominance so that he did not have to kill her. He heard a second snap, a supersonic bullet cutting the air close by, and glanced in time to see the other dog-handler, Tango Two, crumple. Constantine’s men were closing in on him with weapons raised.
Behind them, there came a burst of unsuppressed gunfire and then a terrible hailstorm from the captain’s squad. He did not have to look back to know that the wagon was being riddled; he could hear it.
“Cease fire!” he heard the captain roaring. “Net call, cease fire!” he repeated over the radio channel.
“Hostile coming from the south. PID weapon,” reported a voice on Recce.
“Two from the north,” reported another.
Constantine had already spotted the one to the south. “Boss, you’ve got north,” he said over the radio, and then shouted, “Drop your weapon! Drop it! Get down on the ground!” as he pressed toward the man approaching from the south with what looked like a pistol-caliber carbine. The man did not drop his weapon, nor lie down in the snow, but neither did he fire. Instead, he shouted back at Constantine the same command, along with something about this being a federal matter, which Constantine ignored in turn. Behind Constantine, the men from his squad were covering Tango One and Tango Two, and he could hear the captain’s men shouting commands at the two hostiles approaching from the north flank.
Everyone was shouting for everyone else to drop their weapons.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and then a rifle moved past him on the right, one of his guys taking over security on the south side. Good man. Constantine lowered his weapon and turned to survey the epicenter of the standoff. The camera man was bent over Ashiro, wailing. Melody was still down. “Who shot Ritter?” he demanded again. “Did anyone see it? Was it the sniper?”
No one replied, but then, to his great relief, he saw her move, trying to sit up. Tango One was also sitting up, and she still held her pistol. “All of you, put your fucking guns down!” Constantine heard his captain bellow. “Put them down and let us treat the wounded!”
“Don’t you fucking do it!” snarled a familiar voice. Constantine looked and immediately recognized the one he knew as Joe barreling into the middle of the scene, toward the captain. He had been one of Royal’s two containment personnel on the north side. He held his submachinegun at low ready with one hand while he pointed with his other hand, first at his own people and then at the captain.
“Shut up!” someone was shrieking.
“Lower your weapon!” the captain and his men were shouting at Joe as he approached, but he continued to ignore them.
“You people are off the fucking farm, here!” he rejoined.
“Shut up! Shut up!” It was Melody. She was on her feet, now, and marching toward Joe and the captain, which did not seem wise.
“Melody!” Constantine snapped, moving to intercept her before she got herself shot again. “What the fuck are you doing? Get down!”
“Fucking Constantine,” said Joe. Apparently he had just then recognized Constantine’s voice, and the tone of frustration and anger in his own gave Constantine a deep, immediate sense of satisfaction.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’re finished! You’re fucking dead, man.”
The crowd had grown quiet. Everyone was watching. “Hey, Joe,” replied Constantine, as casually as he could muster. “Federal agents my ass.” He reached up to the push-to-talk module on his vest and pressed the button. “These people are Agency. A fuckin’ TF Royal kill squad.” Then, very deliberately, he raised his rifle to firing position and pointed his red dot just over the center of Joe’s forehead. How satisfying that shot would be, if Joe gave him half an excuse to take it. “Fuckin’ order your guys to stand down, and maybe we’ll patch them up. Otherwise, we merc all you mother-fuckers.”
“Mr. Constantine, don’t,” said Melody. She had continued to approach and was now standing off to his left.
“Melody, not now!” he barked at her again.
“No, you’re on camera,” she said.
In a split second, Constantine reviewed what his eyes had taken in over the past few seconds. Whether by Tango One or Tango Two or the still unlocated sniper, both of Ashiro’s cameras had been shot to pieces. He had seen as much, though he had not made note of it until this moment. “Your cameras are down, Melody. Whatever you had going, they took care of that before it ever went live.” That was a guess, but a solid one. Even before they had shot the cameras, they would have jammed whatever feed Ashiro was sending out. Probably jammed all of their targets’ cell phones, as well. He would not have put it past them to have an ISR bird overhead, too, just for good measure. They had almost unlimited resources for a little operation like this. Resources she could not imagine.
“No, I mean our backup camera,” she said. “The drone.”
He saw Joe glance at her. Could that be a look of uncertainty?
“We’re live, right now,” she continued. “On multiple streams. Everybody’s watching.”
“Bullshit,” said Joe. Constantine grinned. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but at the very least it was making Joe angry, and that made Constantine happy.
“It’s not. My boyfriend is flying it. This whole thing is recorded. Everyone’s going to know what happened here. They already do. Hashtag LyraReport. Check it out.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ move,” said Constantine, keeping his rifle level while he reached into his pocket for his own cell phone. He unlocked it and then realized he had no idea what to do next. He had never bothered to learn what a hashtag was or what to do with one, because they were stupid, and social media was stupid, for the most part. “What site do I go to?” he asked, making a guess and selecting his web browser app.
He glanced at her to find her rolling her eyes. She took the phone from his hand and tapped at it for a moment, and then she handed it back. She had navigated to a video stream, which took a moment to load and then showed him, and Joe, and her, and the others, all standing in the middle of a field of snow. There was just enough of a delay that he got to watch her take the phone from him, tap at it for a moment, and then hand it back. He wanted to laugh, but he stayed professional and just showed the screen to Joe.
Joe took the phone, and Constantine let him, so that Constantine could send another message over the radio: “Medics, get to work on the wounded.” Then, when he was satisfied that Joe fully understood how little Melody Ritter had outmaneuvered him, he said, “So, Joe? What’s it going to be?”
A moment passed. Joe was no longer holding his weapon up. Constantine could see him doing the math. He was had, and he knew it. Finally, Joe looked at Constantine again with a little curl in one corner of his lips and said quietly, “You know, Rob, when we do your kid, we’ll try to make it quick and clean. Like Sing.”
“Fuck you!” replied Constantine, punctuating it with the butt of his rifle. It happened so fast it surprised even him, as if the reaction had come from his brainstem without ever consulting the rest of his brain. Joe dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Melody was shrieking. Constantine knew immediately what a mistake he had made. He could hear the sirens coming, and a howling whine in the air.
“What the fuck is that?” asked Joe through the blood dribbling over his lips.
It struck Constantine as a strange question, given the circumstances, and then he realized that he was hearing a howling whine in the air. A howling whine in the air? Behind him. He turned in time to see a small UAV appear over the bridge, looking at them. Not just any UAV, but the exact make and model he had glimpsed shadowing his convoy during Press Hook, oh so many months ago.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, for a moment forgetting his transgression.
Then he saw the shadow, climbing up out of a small wash carved out by the brook running across the park. It rose into view, first a head, then shoulders, then arms and torso, and then legs, walking with long strides, a dim, translucent shape like a hulking, wingless demon. He knew that shape, too. The media now called it the Wraith of Avos. He had watched it kill Raines. As it strode toward them, its translucence faded and it became a tall, gray figure. A suit, but a suit worn by no mortal man.
He leveled his rifle at it and disengaged his safety in the blink of an eye.
It stopped. Then, after a moment’s pause, it raised its hands to its head and—click, hiss, click— removed its helmet.