Battle Road (20 page)

THIRTY EIGHT

It was a bright and cold morning. Hovering around twenty six degrees. Not unusually cold for late January. A light dusting of snow fell overnight. Covering the existing dirty snow already on the ground. The movers where finished delivering the last piece of furniture to the modest single family bungalow in the quiet neighborhood of West Newton, a nearby suburb of Boston.

Dressed in winter coats and hats, Tien and Dylan took a break and stood together in front of their new home. A house bought and paid for by funds supplied by any number of foreign countries supporting the rebellion. They watched the workmen gather their moving blankets and dollies. Dylan's beard was mostly grown in. With dark rimmed eye glasses, it would be difficult for anyone to recognize him. Tien, on the other hand, was still recognizable. Her hair was now a short, stylized, golden brown. Whenever she left the house she covered her face with a pair of large eye glasses, the kind that were the latest fashion. Still, facial recognition computers could possibly pick her out of a crowd.

“Good job you guys.” Dylan handed the delivery foreman a hundred and fifty dollars as a tip. “Thanks a lot. We really appreciate your hard work,” Tien added. “You're welcome, enjoy your new homes, folks,” the foreman said before heading off. Tien rubbed her gloved hands together, then snuggled up against Dylan. They stood watching the workmen jump into their truck and head off down the road. When the truck was finally out of sight, as if on queue, the pair turned and faced the front of their new house. Tien put her arm around him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He returned the gesture, putting his arm around her shoulder.

Tien was the first to break the silence. “Do you think we'll ever experience this for real someday. Being married and buying a home together. Struggling to make the payments. Arguing over which paint colors to use. Doing all those thing that normal people do?”

Dylan thought it over for a few seconds, searching for the right words to use. But he couldn't find any that would comfort her. “I don't know how to answer that Tien. We both know our personal longevity is measured in weeks or months, but not years.” Tien had been looking up at Dylan while he spoke. She did her best to hide her pain of the reality that he expressed. Tien's voice cracked slightly as she began speaking. “I know. Sometimes I think this nightmare will be over with quickly and we'll just start new lives together and we'll all be happy. But that's not going to happen. I know it. I have to keep reminding myself that we have to fight, to sacrifice so that our children will know what it is to grow up in freedom. It's our duty.”  

The couple stood in silence before their house for another minute before Tien took Dylan's hand. “Do you realize how incredibly lucky we are? We share a love that most people spend their entire lives without ever knowing is possible. And if we can have that even just for today, isn't that true happiness?” she asked. A tear formed in the corner of Dylan's eye. He was touched to the very core of his soul. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Tien reciprocated, placing her arms around his neck. When they finished, Dylan spoke first, “I'm alive because of you. What I mean.” Tien stopped him from speaking another syllable. “I know exactly what you mean,” She smiled up at him, “For the first time in my life I feel truly alive, as well.”

The moment was interrupted by the next door neighbor. “Hello, there.” Tien and Dylan turned to see a heavy set, middle-aged, black woman approaching them carrying a brown paper shopping bag. “Hi, I'm Maggie Preston. I saw you out here and thought this might be a good time to stop by and welcome you to the neighborhood. This is for you,” she said, handing the paper bag over to Tien. “It's a quiche, with bacon. I figured you could use a homemade meal for lunch instead of going out for fast food.”

“Thank you,” Tien and Dylan said in unison.

Maggie went on, “My husband won't eat anything unless there's some kind of meat in it. So I figured I'd make something you'd both enjoy. I hope you're not vegetarians.”

“That's so kind of you. No we're not vegetarians,” Dylan said, before starting in with their prepared response. “I'm Bill Hines. This here is my lovely wife Stephanie.” Tien piped in, “Everyone calls me Steph. Thanks again for the quiche. We'll have for it lunch. The stove is really the only thing we have at this point. The microwave is buried somewhere under a pile of boxes.”

Maggie smiled with a grin from ear to ear. She seemed like a genuinely warm person. “You're going to love this neighborhood. The people are great. Not a single nasty person. The Newton school system is the best, do you have children?” the middle-aged woman inquired. “No, but hopefully someday soon,” Tien responded. She continued the ruse. “We're from LA. Well, I should say we've lived in California for the past eight years. Bill grew up on the North Shore. I'm originally from New Jersey. And we're finally making the move back East for Bill's new job.”

“Well, after you're settled down, in a few weeks, you'll have to come over for dinner. Meet my husband Walter. The kids are all grown and off at college. So, we always enjoy having company,” Maggie said. Dylan sensed the woman was about to engage them in a long conversation. “I think that's a great idea, Maggie. We'd love to have dinner with you and Walter. But, I don't mean to be hasty. But we really do have to get going. As you can imagine,” Dylan said as he lifted his hand towards the house.

“Of course, I'm sorry. Well, it was nice meeting you. Good luck with everything,” Maggie said, as she walked away. “It was nice meeting you Maggie. And thanks again for the quiche,” Tien said. 

“Actually, I think it would have been a pleasant dinner. She seems like a really nice woman,” Dylan said, alluding to the fact that they will never sit down to dinner with Maggie and Walter. Their instructions where clear, it was important to meet the neighbors, appear friendly, and lay the foundation of their new identities. But at the same time they had to keep their distance to avoid exposing their deceptions. Any number of slip ups could occur at a friendly  dinner date. They were taught it was always the smallest details that could trip them up and blow their cover

The house was a mess. Moving boxes full of everything needed for a home filled the entire first floor. Furniture was left wherever the movers thought it should go. Neither Dylan nor Tien had ever stepped foot in the house before. They had no idea what was in most of the boxes. Nor did they know where any of the furniture should go. They had their work cut out.

Tien walked into the cluttered living room and peered through the curtains left behind by the previous owners. She saw the street was empty. Mrs. Preston was already back in her home. “She's probably on the phone by now, talking to her friends about what nice new neighbors she has,” Tien spoke loudly for Dylan in the other room.

He followed into the living room, shaking his head as he entered. “You know, it's the damnedest thing. I keep trying to remember the building were we spent the last couple of months living in. Nothing. I try to remember the names or faces of the people I met, our superior officers. Nothing. I can't remember a thing. Though, I can remember all of the details of our mission, all of my training, and my entire life.”

Tien moved away from the curtains and started looking over some of the boxes. “It takes getting use to. That's for sure. I don't think I was ever comfortable with the hypnosis until my fourth or fifth mission. I found that not thinking about it helped. Which is tough of course, because when you try not to think about something you end up thinking about it even more.” She let out a big laugh. “Unpacking and getting our house setup will get your mind off of it.”

Tien started looked around the boxes, moving them from side to side, trying to read their labels. “Lets find the boxes marked 'Glassware'. Our ammunition and explosives should be packed in those. Let's get it down into the basement and stored safely. Then we should look for the guns.”

THIRTY NINE

Dylan pulled his silver Chevy sedan into the driveway and drove all the the way to the garage door. Close enough for the recharging cord to reach the plug on the rear passengers side of the car. It was the the forth time that week he managed to make it home at five thirty. Reinforcing the illusion for the neighbors that he was a professional who came home every night for dinner.

He put his v-phone, with all of the days reconnaissance video and audio notes, into his top pocket, grabbed his empty briefcase, and headed into the house. Plugging in the car's recharging cord on his way in.

“
Hey,  I'm home,” Dylan said, as he closed the front door behind him. He put the briefcase down on the floor, leaning it against the hallway wall. “I'm in the office,” Tien called back. Dylan took off his coat and walked over to the downstairs office.  It was really a small den that Tien used for her office. There were bigger bedrooms upstairs she could have taken, though she preferred being downstairs.

Tien was sitting at her desk, engrossed in her paperwork spread out everywhere. The use of computers to store data was only allowed on systems not connected to the internet. Homeland Security could trace everything on the net, every computer, every tablet, every v-phone. Standard operating procedure for the rebellion was simple; don't connect anything.

Dylan walked up behind Tien and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging them as she continued to focus on the documents in front of her. “How are you, sweetie?” Dylan tried to comically mimic what a real businessman would say to his wife after a long day at the office. Tien remained fixed on her work. “Huh..... Oh, I'm fine. I've been working on the McCallister case all day. Did you get the surveillance video on his hotel that I asked for?”

Dylan continued to massage her shoulders. “Yeah I got it.”

Tien never broke her concentration on the papers in front of her. “There's no way we can hit General McCallister. Other than a suicide attack. And I don't even see how we could do that.”   

Dylan moved over to her side to look over the paperwork with her.

“The General always travels in motorcades of six cars.  We never know which car he's in. The front and back vehicles are armored Humvees with 50 caliber machine guns. And they always travel with escort motorcycles. They're prepared for our motorcycle assassination teams, roadside bombs, weaponized drones.”

Dylan put his left hand on Tien's shoulder. “Looks like you need a break. Get away from it for a while. Take a look at it with fresh eyes later on.” Tien leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out. Taking Dylan's hand into her own. “You're right. I've been totally obsessed. I'm not going to solve this tonight. What do you want for dinner?” Dylan thought for a moment, “What about Thai. I think I'm in the mood for Crazy Noodles.”

It was getting late in the evening, twenty past nine. Tien was lying against Dylan on the couch. Each of them reading magazines on their tablets while watching one of the new TV shows of the season. Another crime drama. It was a repeat of the pilot episode. Neither one of them were really watching the show. It was just on in the background. Something to relax by and keep them company.

Out of the blue, Dylan blurted out, “I know how to get at General McCallister.” Tien put her tablet down on the coffee table and turned to face Dylan. “So, YOU know how to get the bastard. Nobody at Command can figure it out. I've been working on it for a week. And you spend ten minutes one morning taking a look at his downtown hotel residence and you know how to do it. Well I'm all ears Einstein,” she said with a grin, letting him know she was joking.

A big shit eating grin spread across Dylan's face. “His compound is protected by squads of soldiers. Blast proof walls, bullet proof glass. Every imaginable high tech defensive weapon deployed. Right. Well, think about it. Those high tech weapons are designed to stop other high tech weapons. So …...we use low tech weapons. And I know just what to use.”

“
Don't leave me in suspense. Come on...... tell me.” Tien shook Dylan's shirt.

“
We use old fashion model airplanes loaded with explosives. The kind that use analog radio signals with control boxes. Homeland Security doesn't have anything to stop them. Their surface to air missiles wouldn't be able to hone in on the heat source from their small engines. Their electronic jamming devices are all designed to shut down digital transmissions. Nobody's used analog systems since the First Pac Rim war. Their radar controlled Gatling guns would never have a target to shoot at. Balsa wood and C4-B explosives wouldn't provide a radar signature.” Dylan looked genuinely pleased with himself.

Tien sat silent for a moment before smiling. “I don't believe it. You're right. This is it.” She thought more about it. “This is how we'll hit McCallister. Alright I'll admit it. You are a fucking genius. OK, so.....we'll need two planes to do the job. We'll fly them right into his hotel room at night while he's sleeping. The first airplane will be used to blow out the bullet proof glass. The second plane would follow directly behind and be detonated inside his bedroom.”

“You can't buy these old model planes anymore, of course. But I know some old timers, friends of my fathers, that have basements full of these planes,” Dylan said.

He leaned closer to Tien and put his arm behind her neck. “Since, you don't have any more work to do tonight. I have just the thing to keep you busy.”

Tien smiled. “I bet you do. You horny devil.”

FORTY

The alarm clock rang, the digital display read seven am. Dylan hit the off button and rolled over to the center of the bed. The bedroom was dark and cold. “Oh, man, I hate winter mornings,” he said aloud, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. Tien was already up. She usually got up at least an hour before him. He lifted the covers and rolled one more time, right out of bed. It was Friday morning and he had a full day of reconnaissance work ahead of him. 

He shaved and put his clothes on, then shuffled down to the kitchen. He could smell the coffee as he walked down the stairs. Tien always brewed a big pot, more than enough for both of them. She sat at the small eat-in kitchen table, staring at her cup of coffee. Her eyes were a little red. Seeing him enter the room, she turned and looked up. “We need to talk. I just got a message from Command.” Tien breathed deeply. He stopped in his tracks, becoming fully alert. Her words jolted him awake more than any coffee could.

“
What is it?” his mind raced as to what it could be. “It's not my parents is it?”

She shook her head, “No, why don't you sit down and I'll tell you.”

Dylan walked carefully over to the table and sat down. “What is it?”

“
Command got word late last night, from one of our inside sources, that Brooks was killed yesterday. I'm so sorry, Dylan.” Tien got up and sat on his lap. She gave him a hug, a long, comforting one. An embrace Dylan didn't want to let go of. A few tears fell from his eyes. He hugged her a while longer before gently pushing her away and standing up from table.

“
The official reason was he was shot trying to escape. But our source believes he was  intentionally murdered. Ordered from the highest ranks of Homeland Security.”

“
Fuck!” Dylan said. He clenched both of his fists and ran them across his head. “It's all my fault. I got Brooksie killed,” he said. Tien walked over to his side, trying to comfort him without saying anything. She knew there wasn't anything she could say.

“
Fuck Command too!” Dylan's rage grew. “I can't even remember who those assholes are but I can clearly remember them telling me Brooksie would be safe. Homeland Security wouldn't kill him, they said. He was too valuable. He was their leverage against me.” Dylan leaned with both hands against the kitchen island. “I should have done something. I should have gotten him out of there myself.”

Tien rubbed his back. “There wasn't anything you could have done. There was no way you or anyone could have got Brooksie out. It wasn't your fault.”

Dylan backed away from the kitchen island and faced Tien. “Yes there was. I could have killed Goodman. He's the one that ordered Brooksie's execution. He did it to get back at me. If  Goodman was dead, nobody else would have given a shit about Brooksie.” Dylan looked down and shook his head. Tien knew he was right. She searched for more words to try to comfort him, but couldn't find any.

“
I made the mistake. No one else. I should have listened to my gut instinct. But I was so wrapped up in myself. Trying to play the part of the good soldier; waving the flag, saluting my senior officers. I was trying to save the world. Where all along I should have been trying to save my friend.”

“
I'm so sorry. I should have realized that, as well.” Tien sat back down at the table, putting her hands over her face to stop herself from crying. 

“
I'm going to kill him, Goodman,” Dylan said matter of factly. “I'm going to kill that motherfucker!” Tien shook her head. “Command will never allow it. Not by you. If they do make that decision, it will be carried out by other agents.”

Dylan half sneered and half laughed. “I'm not requesting permission. I'm not requesting anything from Command. I'm going to do a job. A job on the side that Command doesn't need to know anything about.”

Tien became adamant. “That's not how we do things. You follow your orders. I follow mine. Nothing else. We're in a war and we're soldiers. Like it or not.”

Dylan smiled and looked straight into her eyes. “We're volunteers. We're not professional soldiers. They don't pay us any money. Everything we have around us, it's all to get a job done for them. It's not for us. This time, the war is personal. I'm off the clock. I'm doing this. You can either join me or stay out of my way.”

Listening to how he spoke, Tien knew there was no way she could stop him. She knew he had to do what he had to do. She cleared her throat, “In all likelihood, Goodman killed Brooks to flush you out. He probably calculated the act would enrage you enough to come after him blindly. You would trip up, one way or the other. Trust me on that. He would kill or capture you. And  in the end, he would win.” Dylan tried to speak but was stopped by Tien. “If we do this, we do it my way. I'm in command. I'm the Strike Leader. You'll be my specialist. Nothing's changed. Do you understand me?”

Dylan stood frozen, stunned for a second, trying to process everything. “Yes, I agree. And you're right about everything. We need to be careful. Plan everything out very carefully. You're in charge, I trust you completely to get this job done right.”

Tien nodded her head, continuing her instructions, “Good, then we'll take our time. Wait things out. Then hit that motherfucker. In the meantime we'll continue our planning on McCallister. I'm thinking we'll assign that hit to Strike Team D instead of doing it ourselves. That will give us more time to prepare for Goodman.”

“
Yes, Sir,” Dylan responded in military fashion to give her a sense that he is on board with her decisions. Tien grinned in acknowledgment. “One more thing. I'm proud of you. I know you're hurt, angry. I know you blame yourself. But I'm proud of you for your emotional intelligence and not flying off into a rage. You vented, but stayed cool. You understand we have to be professionals. And that we're a team. We sink or swim together.”

“
Besides,” Tien added, “Once Command finds out about this, we'll both be busted down to paper pushers never leaving headquarters. That is, of course, if we survive this mission.”