Search for the Phoenix: Phoenix Series Book 2 (18 page)

* * * *

Burris and his squad were hot and sweaty when they reached the clearing near the top of the hill. From the tree line, they could see the house with lights shining in several of the ground-floor windows. Burris signaled to his men to split up and surround the house. He personally circled the house, staying in the shadows of the trees, examining every detail. A room at the back was brightly lit, and he could hear faint noises from inside. Rounding the back, he found the stable. He eased the door open and looked around—there were no horses. If anyone decided to make a run for it, they would have to leave on foot. He’d have his squad thoroughly search the stable later. Someone was in the house, and they were his primary concern at the moment.

He sent a text command, which displayed on every squad member’s faceplate—it was time to move in. His squad advanced, some taking up positions beside windows, others moving onto the porches and flanking the doors. Burris peered in through the window of the rear door, looking into the kitchen. A pan sat on the center island, steam still rising from it. The room appeared to be empty. He gave the doorknob a gentle twist, and it turned.

The Weasel took a spoonful of oatmeal and moaned. Yes, it was only oatmeal, but this was the first hot meal he’d had in days. He nearly choked on the second spoonful when a floorboard creaked in the kitchen. The bowl fell from his hands and the spoon flew across the room. He jumped up and spun around just in time to see a very large man in armor holding a pistol that was aimed straight at him. Without a word, he slowly raised his hands.

“What’s your name?” the armor-clad man demanded as three more soldiers came through the door behind him.

Name… what was the owner’s name?
“Carl,” he said weakly.

“Do you have a last name, Carl?” the big man asked.

The Weasel wracked his brain.
What was it? Williams? Wilkins?
“Wilkins,” he finally managed. “Carl Wilkins.”

“Who else is here?”

“Just me. I’m alone,” the Weasel said. Then, mustering all the indignation he could, he added, “I’m the owner of this property. What is your business here?” His quavering voice wasn’t especially convincing, and his trembling legs didn’t help his cause.

Burris motioned for one of his squad to open the front door. Moving cautiously around the room’s perimeter, the man reached the door and opened it. It quickly became quite crowded.

“Search the house,” Burris said, and the newcomers quickly spread out in twos and threes, weapons drawn.

* * * *

Harris stood in the dark, staring through his binoculars. Lights on the second floor had gone on and off a while ago. Someone was definitely in the building. An icon flashed on his display, and he accepted the comm link request.

“This is Burris. We have Carl Wilkins in custody. We’ve searched the structures. Wilkins is alone. We’re bringing him out.”

“Good work, Sergeant. We’ll be expecting you.”

Harris closed the connection and opened a new link to the other squads. “Harris here. Burris has apprehended Wilkins. His squad will be coming out soon. I don’t want anyone getting trigger-happy. As soon as they arrive, we’ll load up and fly out of here.”

* * * *

Jiorgenson’s comm unit chimed. He should have gone home hours ago, but he was waiting for confirmation from Nelson that Wilkins had been found. His hand trembled as he pushed the button.

“Nelson, here. I just received word from my field commander. They have taken Carl Wilkins into custody and they’re bringing him in.”

“Yes!” Jiorgenson shouted. “I knew he was there! Good work, General.”

“Thank you. It will be a few hours before they get here. We’ll lock him up. You can interview him in the morning,” the general said.

“All right. I think I’ll go home and get a good night’s sleep. That’s not something I’ve managed often since this case started. Good night, General.”

“Good night, Captain.”

Jiorgenson rode the elevator down to the ground floor. As he crossed the lobby, he paused. He had asked First Admiral Tompkins how they had obtained Nolan Peters’ data unit, and he learned they had picked him up two days ago for further questioning. He had the urge to pay Peters a visit to let him know his boss had been captured. It was tempting, but he was exhausted and just wanted to go home and sleep. He’d stop in to visit Peters in the morning on his way to question Wilkins. Tomorrow was going to be a glorious day. Wearing a broad smile, he turned and continued to the door.

Niles Jiorgenson opened the door to Nolan Peters’ cell. It was dark inside. He flipped on the switch outside the door and stepped in. Peters was lying on the cot, apparently sleeping. He crossed the room to wake him, but he froze a few feet away. The man on the cot was unrecognizable, his face bruised and horribly swollen. Blood stained his skin and the pillow, as well. He doubted Peters, if this were him, could even open his eyes. Quickly, he turned and rushed out of the cell, closing the door and turning off the light. The floor felt like it was tipping, and he thought he was going to be sick. Leaning against the wall, he pressed his face to the cool concrete and took deep breaths. He had often wondered, especially in recent years, if the rumors of what they did to some of the prisoners were true. Facing it like this, seeing the results first-hand, made him wonder if he was working for the good guys or the bad guys. He fought against the growing nausea, but failed. Two guards came around the corner, drawn by the noise, saw the condition the captain was in, and quickly grabbed him by his arms and dragged him into the men’s room.

Jiorgenson entered his office and closed the door. Opening his locker, he pulled out the dress uniform he kept there for special occasions. He’d look like a fool walking around in dress whites all day, but there wasn’t a good alternative. He was just unbuttoning his soiled shirt when his comm unit chimed. He pressed a button. “Captain Jiorgenson here,” he said.

“Captain, this is General Nelson. I have some bad news.”

Jiorgenson froze as panic rushed over him. Had Peters died of his injuries? Or worse, had they worked over Wilkins during the night and killed him? “Is this about Wilkins?” he asked.

“The man my people brought in last night was not Carl Wilkins. He’s average height, medium build, with brown hair—fits Wilkins’ description, but he’s not our man. I ran facial recognition on him when he got here. He’s a petty crook named Dominick Waterberry. I questioned him this morning. It seems he stumbled onto Peters’ house and broke in a few hours before my team got there. The crazy thing is, when they grabbed him, he said he was Carl Wilkins. He had found some documents in the house with Wilkins’ name on them and thought he was the property owner. He gave my team that name hoping they would leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything about Wilkins’ whereabouts.”

“And you believe him?” Jiorgenson asked.

“If you questioned this guy for half an hour, you’d understand, Captain. He couldn’t have made this story up if he had someone helping him,” the general said.

“Thank you, General,” he said. Then, with the image of Nolan Peters resurfacing in his thoughts, he asked, “What are you going to do with him?”

“We’ll turn him over to the Dawson PD. They have several outstanding warrants for him. They’ll also check with the authorities around Zebulon to see if he’s wanted on any charges there,” Nelson said.

“Thank you, General,” he said, pressing the button to end the link.
Could this day get any worse?
He quickly removed his clothes and tossed them into a bag. After unzipping the garment bag he’d taken from his locker, he pulled out the dress white trousers and slipped one leg into them. “Damn it!” he screamed. The crotch of his dress uniform pants had been cut out, leaving a gaping hole. It was a standard SACOM prank, but it had been more than a year since anyone had done it. As he thought about it, he recalled that he was the last person to pull this stunt. And then he recalled that this uniform had been in his locker for nearly a year. Standing there in his underwear, he tried to recall who he had done this to, certain they had retaliated, when his door opened and Lieutenant Linda Groves entered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t expecting you to be in this early,” she said. She looked him up and down, trying not to laugh.

“I came in early to interrogate a prisoner,” he said.

“And he stole your clothes,” she said.

He looked down, and then looked at the lieutenant. “Would you go down to the PX and get me a uniform, or anything I can wear?”

“Yes, sir. What size?” she asked.

He tossed her the dress white pants. Pulling the matching shirt from the bag, he threw it to her as well.

“I’ll see what I can find,” she said as she stepped out and closed the door. He could hear her laughing as she walked away.

His comm unit chimed. He dropped into his chair and answered the call. “Jiorgenson.”

“This is Lieutenant Zorbas.”

Jiorgenson froze. This was the man responsible for questioning Nolan Peters. He’d never realized what a vile, inhuman beast the man was. “I suppose you have news for me,” he said. Any enthusiasm he might have had prior to this morning was gone, driven away by the realization of the human cost.

“Not really. I didn’t learn anything new from Peters last night. However, I think he is breaking down. I should have something for you tomorrow.”

“Release him,” Jiorgenson said.

“What? Give me a few more days. I know I can break him,” Zorbas said.

“You’ve done enough breaking already. Have him taken to the infirmary. Once they’ve checked him over, release him. Have someone take him home,” he said.

“Ah, I understand. Time to do away with this little problem,” Zorbas said.

“What? No! Never mind. I’ll take care of it myself. You just stay the hell away from him, and that’s an order!” Jiorgenson said before ending the call. He quickly opened a link to General Nelson.

“Nelson here.”

“General, I need another favor. Nolan Peters is in cell twenty-three. Please send someone down there right away to stand guard. I don’t want Zorbas going into that cell for any reason,” the captain said.

“Easy enough. I’ll send two of my people immediately. What are you going to do with him?” the general asked.

“I’ll be down as soon as I get some clothes. Don’t ask. I’ll bring a few of my people, and we’ll take Peters to the infirmary. Then we’ll take him home.”

“This is your investigation, son. You’re calling the shots,” the general said.

“Regarding Zorbas… you know what he is, don’t you?” the captain asked.

“I can make a pretty good guess,” Nelson said.

“Have you seen Peters? This morning, I mean,” Jiorgenson asked.

“No, I haven’t seen him since they brought him in.”

“Maybe you should go down there and see Zorbas’ handiwork.”

After a brief pause, the general said, “I’ll go down there and see for myself. I’ll personally stand guard on his cell. If Zorbas shows up, he’ll have to go through me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jiorgenson said. The general terminated the link.

There was a knock at his door. “It’s me, sir. Groves, Sir. I have clothes for you.”

“Come in,” he said. He could tell the lieutenant was holding back laughter. She held out a clear plastic bag with something blue inside. She tossed it to him, and he examined it. “A janitor’s jumpsuit! That’s what you got for me?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Many of the survivors from the First Fleet lost most of their gear. They cleaned out the PX when they returned, and they haven't restocked yet. They didn’t have anything else in your size,” she said.

“I don’t have time to wait for anything else,” he said as he tore open the bag and began slipping into the jumpsuit. After zipping it up, he dug through the bag with his vomit-covered clothes and removed his captain’s insignias from the shirt collar. He stepped in front of the lieutenant and held out the silver eagles. “I don’t have a mirror. Please pin these on my collar.”

* * * *

Jiorgenson arrived at cell twenty-three, followed by Lieutenant Groves and Lieutenant Baker. One of General Nelson’s security team, Corporal Shaw according to his name tag, was standing by the open door.

“Captain Jiorgenson, General Nelson asked me to wait here and give you a message. The general has taken Mr. Peters to the infirmary. He suggests you meet him there as soon as possible,” Shaw said.

Without a word, Jiorgenson turned and ran up the corridor.

“Thank you,” Groves said, and then she and Baker ran after the captain.

The three were out of breath when they reached the infirmary. Jiorgenson had spoken to the general numerous times via comm link over the years, but he had never met the man in person. The familiar face and powerful voice reassured Jiorgenson that he had indeed found Nelson. Medium in height, Nelson was barrel-chested and had arm muscles to match. His gently rounded facial features did little to take away from his intimidating appearance. His deep ebony skin glistened with small beads of perspiration atop his shaved head. Dark, wraparound sunglasses concealed the man’s eyes. He stood in the corner of the waiting room talking on his data unit.

“Thank you, Senator,” the general said, slipping his data unit into his pocket. He walked toward the captain and said, “I expected Peters to be in bad shape after our talk. When I got there, it was a lot worse than I had imagined. He was coughing up blood and struggling to breathe. I brought him here immediately. The doctor said he has two broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a concussion. They’re working on him.”

“Zorbas did this,” Jiorgenson said, no longer trying to conceal his disgust.

“I know. I’ll deal with him soon,” the general said.

“What can you do? He answers directly to First Admiral Bennett.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll take care of it,” the general said.

“But Zorbas will find out that Peters is missing. He’ll go straight to Bennett,” Jiorgenson said.

The general turned to the lieutenants and said, “I think it would be a good idea for you two to return to your work. You won’t be needed here.”

Baker and Groves looked at each other, their doubt evident. They turned to Jiorgenson, unsure if they dared to ask if they should obey the general. Before either could say anything, the captain held out a hand to Baker and said, “Give me Peters’ data unit, and then you can both return to your stations.”

Baker passed the unit to Jiorgenson. Turning, he walked to the door with Groves following close behind.

The general said, “Just a moment.” Crossing the room, he said softly, “A storm is coming. I suggest you keep this incident to yourselves for now. There will come a time for disclosure, but this is not that time.”

The pair nodded and left.

Nelson sat in one of the well-padded chairs and leaned back, resting his head against the wall. Jiorgenson sat next to him and waited for the man to speak. The general was silent for some time. Finally, he said, “Things are happening, Captain. The less you know, the better, but someone needs to take care of Nolan Peters. Does he have family?”

“He has a girlfriend here in Dawson and an uncle in Zebulon,” Jiorgenson said.

Nelson considered this for a moment. “That’s all? What do you know about them?”

“His uncle is a farmer or rancher, I don’t really know. His girlfriend is an emergency medical technician.”

The general nodded. “She’s the one then. She’ll be able to take care of him while he recovers. As soon as he can be moved, we need to get him out of here and into her care. They should go away somewhere.”

“You want him to go into hiding?” asked the captain.

The general shrugged. “Call it that, if you want. I just think he should get away from Dawson for a while.”

“But what about Zorbas?” Jiorgenson asked.

“Captain, since you refuse to leave the subject alone, I’ll tell you that I have Zorbas in a cell. He isn’t going to cause any trouble for a while,” the general said.

“He’ll be missed,” Jiorgenson hissed.

“I doubt that, but even so, he won’t be found, not where I have him. Don’t worry about Zorbas. You need to concentrate on getting Peters out of here. Why don’t you go and contact the girlfriend—let her know what’s happened. I’ll inform the doctor that Peters will be leaving as soon as possible. I’ll have him pack whatever supplies and medications he’ll need,” the general said.

Jiorgenson was still worried about Zorbas, but the general seemed pretty confident that he had the situation under control. He looked at the general for a moment, and then nodded. “I’ll contact her.”

“I recommend going to see her in person. This isn’t the sort of news you give someone via comm.”

Jiorgenson nodded. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. I’ll come and see you when I get back.”

“I’ll be right here,” Nelson said.

“I’ll find you.”

“No,” Nelson said. “I mean I’ll be right here, in the infirmary. I am personally guarding Peters until he is safely away from here.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Jiorgenson said.

* * * *

Jiorgenson exited the base and walked along the sidewalk toward the park. He needed the kind of privacy a public place full of people gave you. The day was bright and warm, perfect for buying lunch from a food truck around the park’s perimeter. He crossed the street and continued up the sidewalk leading into the park. At the top of the hill, he paused and surveyed the trucks. It had been years since he had left the base for lunch. None of the trucks looked familiar, but one had a much longer queue than the others. That was usually a good sign.