rebel-heart, Rakhibul hasan [recommended reading TXT] 📗

on new boots, pausing when the net beeped, indicating someone was trying to contact him. He tapped the subcutaneous button before returning to his boots.

“Major Hanson?” a man’s voice asked. “Yes.”

“This is Lieutenant George with the intel unit assigned to your command.” “Find anything?”

“Well, yes, in a sense,” the lieutenant said, an odd note in his voice. “You’ll soon receive orders to report to a set of coords with the box. The feds want it back now.”

“I have a real mission to execute hunting down insurgents. Can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know what that thing is, but I would say not to lose it. They went crazy when I read them the serial. Can you reconfirm?”

Brady stretched a muscular arm across the table beside him to tug the box out of his other uniform. He opened it and looked at the small black keypad a quarter the size of his palm. It appeared harmless despite the biohazard warnings. If it was an actual hazard, the sensors built into his uniform would have warned him. He read the numbers aloud again.

“It’s the same,” the lieutenant said. “I’ll have the command submit your new orders.”

“They can send someone else,” Brady replied. “I’m not going to deal with the slimy feds when I can kill bad guys.”

“There isn’t anyone else to go right now, sir,” he responded. “The Twelfth Army is on its way back from Europe. We had two teams operational able to conduct a mission requiring well over a dozen teams and no supplies. Major Scroll’s team was hit with an ambush an hour ago. We haven’t heard back from them yet to know if there are any survivors, which means we have one team available: yours.”

The words came as a blow. Brady had worked with Dan for fifteen years. Every mission overseas with the regular military, every PMF mission here. Dan had always been his second-in-command and most importantly, as good a friend as any of Brady’s brothers.

“So the solution is to run away?” Brady snapped.

“The solution is to survive until reinforcements arrive from overseas.”

Brady rose and snatched his weapons, snapping them into place on his body armor. He stuffed the small box of fresh chocolate into his cargo pocket.

“You’re leaving my team with luck to survive?” he growled.

“Brade, it’s Larry. Stop harassing the intel guy,” Larry said. “We don’t have the people or supplies to sustain ourselves on the regular army side. Your team is being dispatched on a new mission.”

“Where did Dan last report in?” Brady asked, concern for his closest friend making his chest tighten. “If you won’t help, I’ll go to him.”

“We can’t help, Brade. Jesus, look around you! You may be accustomed to scraping by in some third world country, but this is our country. We can do nothing here without supplies and without more men to replace those that have died the past few weeks,” Larry said, frustration in his voice. “Regrouping is our only option right now.”

“Sorry, Larry. Give me Dan’s last coords, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have a new mission, one that’s got the feds screaming,” Larry reminded him. “If they don’t get it, they’ll start digging. This isn’t a good time to draw attention to your other activities.”

Brady waited. Larry—and most other regular army soldiers—either joined or quietly supported the PMF. The people credited the PMF with saving them from the elite’s Civil War while the elites tried hard to stamp out the PMF’s existence.

“Fine,” Larry said with a sigh. “I’ll send his coords. Get that box to the feds; they’re not far. Good luck to you. Larry out.”

Larry was right. Brady had conducted many missions in austere conditions in other countries. Of course, no one had ever expected the nuke attacks to happen, even someone involved in the insurgent organization blamed for them. The regular military was in no position to help, not when the bulk of it was overseas.

On impulse, Brady tapped his implant and breathed her name as he continued to ready himself. He didn’t realize how much he relied upon Angel’s soothing voice until he heard her answer. Brady hesitated to respond, feeling as though he should concentrate on supporting her, per Tim’s directions, rather than reach out to her when he needed her.

“Hey, Angel,” he said at last.

“Did you make it to the hospital?” she asked. Her soft voice was always calm. It stilled his nerves and helped him focus.

“We did,” he confirmed. “You remembered the chocolate.” She chuckled, a sound he liked but rarely heard.

“Thank you,” he said with warmth. “My friend wouldn’t have made it otherwise.” “You’re welcome. Is it still bad out?” she asked.

“Depends on how you define bad,” he replied grimly. “This hospital is the only thing in a day’s walk with power. We haven’t seen any civilians in two days, though we’ve had some fierce battles with some sort of insurgency.”

“We underestimated the PMF.”

“I don’t think it’s them,” he said carefully. “The guys we’re facing don’t fit the bill.” “Really? Why?”

“The guys we’re running into are wearing uniforms from the war era. I think someone wasn’t happy the war ended and has the power and money to reinvigorate it,” he said. He stopped, awaiting her response.

“Interesting,” she said. “I’ve been researching this as well. I’m afraid there aren’t many people willing to look beyond the obvious in this circumstance.”

“What do you think?” he responded.

“You’re the second person to ask me for my opinion on something. I’m an analyst and skilled technician. I gather information and present findings, not give my opinions.”

“C’mon, Angel. I’m not a politician. Tell me what you think.”

She hesitated then said, “I think you’re right, but I can’t find proof of it anywhere.”

He almost sighed. While he didn’t understand why Tim wanted this woman protected, he saw her appeal: intelligence, artlessness, and perceptiveness combined with a general good will. No, she was not at all the type of person Tim normally surrounded himself with.

“Are you going out again for more bad guys?” “Yeah. Still trying to get killed,” he replied.

“Don’t try too hard. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.” He chuckled.

“The general is paging me. I’d better go,” she said. “Have a good one,” he responded. “Guardian out.”

Brady strode from the private room into a common area, where two of his four remaining men waited.

“We have a new mission,” he began.

Chapter Four

LANA SMILED AS SHE turned her attention from the conversation to the screens around her. The sector specialists were busy at their workstations while two guards loitered outside the damaged entrance. She sipped from a container of water and turned again to the wall behind the titanium glass, unable to pinpoint how one of the sensitive keypads had made it outside the compound or when.

She strode to the wall again, quelling the urge to open it. The procedures for accessing the keypads were strict: only those authorized to do so were allowed to, and then only when no one unauthorized was in the room and the door sealed with the alarm activated.

She rubbed her neck, agitated.

“You figure out how to deal with the supply issue?” General Greene asked from his position at a small planning table in the corner.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sir, it’s not been my experience to provide my opinion. I’m not really qualified.”

“We discussed this already. You’re my advisor. Advise me.”

“Very well,” she said. “We can access the emerops locations around here with Elise’s security forces. I can unlock them remotely, and you can send her in for supplies. But doing so will leave us vulnerable if something else happens.”

“I understand. How does the infrastructure look?”

“In general, we don’t have the people we need to permanently fix the East Coast. We can maintain the systems from here, but almost everyone has fled west.”

“But the systems are up?” he asked skeptically.

She gave a tired smile and responded with gentle sarcasm, “I have been working the past few weeks, sir.”

“How are they downstairs?” “Impatient.”

“Maybe it’s time for Arnie to visit and stay awhile. Will keep him out of our hair.” “Yes,” she said emphatically.

“He still screaming at people up here?” She nodded.

“And the keypad?” “On its way.”

His gaze drifted to the wall of glass. “I’m not convinced this is the only keypad missing from beneath our noses,” he said with a frown. “Take a count this afternoon after the hub’s clear. We’ll seal the vault the best we can.”

“Yes, sir.”

He glanced at his watch and rose. He had daily meetings he forbade her from attending. She waited for him to leave then checked her micro, which was still working on decrypting his encoded messages. She’d never seen it take this long. He was using coding more advanced than any she’d ever seen. It was the sign of someone with a secret he couldn’t risk anyone discovering. This was not a personal message to a companion.

Lana waited until the others in the center left and stood before the titanium-reinforced glass in front of the keypads. She went through the multiple security procedures. At last, the glass slid open. Surrounded by keypads controlling the critical infrastructure nodes for the East Coast, the sensitive keys she needed to inventory were held within a small vault. It slid open, and she gazed at the keys that controlled sensitive military systems.

And the Horsemen. There were twenty keys in the set, code-named Horsemen, after the biblical Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The keys were located all over the world, except for four of them, which were based here in the command center. The Horsemen controlled and activated space weapons with the

capability to destroy a country. She’d never spoken of them to anyone, not since being granted access to a file only a handful of people in the country had access to.

All four were there. Puzzled, she freed them one by one, studying them. It wasn’t possible for four of them to be there while one was on its way up the mountain. Lana glanced towards the door and sat at a small table nearby. She set one keypad on her micro, waiting for it to read the serial. The results were even more baffling. She tested the second, third, and fourth.

None of them were the Horsemen! These were lesser keypads to other critical infrastructure functions that someone had swapped out. She rose and crossed to the keypad wall again.

She began testing them quickly with her micro. After a long hour, she found one of the remaining sixteen Horsemen. In the second hour, she found the other fifteen. All of the weapons controllers had been taken from their positions all over the world and placed here, disguised as lesser systems.

The reality of what someone had done made her feel sick. There were three people with access to the keypads, and one was sleeping in the barracks from too much drugs. This—combined with General Greene’s encrypted messages—made her instincts stronger.

Even so, four of the Horsemen—the ones based here—were missing. Lana leaned her elbows on her knees, staring hard at the wall. Four keypads gone with one making its way back to the command center. Where were the other three?

She rubbed the back of her neck, mentally wired despite her fatigue. Four keys capable of destroying a continent—and winning a war—were taken under their noses. They may have been missing before she arrived; no one took accountability of something no one was supposed to have access to. One of those with access was declared unfit; did he have enough scruples left to steal and hide three more keypads?

Her eyes strayed to the Horsemen on the table. The quiet voice of her instincts was at a shout. No matter what was going on, she had to protect the keys capable of destroying the world. Lana reached into her bag and pulled out