Sitting next to Lawton and staring at the Battle Command System, a graphical map of Mesquite appeared, and Cone grew excited. Blue and red indicators outlined the respective real-time positions of the Custer and the target. Most interesting, the blue dot was closing on the red, fast.
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six sending streaming video now. Over.” With a push of a button, the pilot transmitted the real-time images from his FLIR to the Battle Command System.
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” answered Lawton as he brought up the image in a corner of his monitor.
Cone nudged closer, wanting to get a better view. In response, Lawton clicked on the image and connected it to a larger overhead monitor, one of many mounted around the command post platform.
Looking up, plain to see on the monitors, Cone spotted two individuals in a green hue walking along a path near a line of houses. With each passing second, as the Custer closed in, the picture grew in detail. Then, the two figures began to run.
“Forager One Actual, the target is Oscar Mike towards civilian housing. Shifting to fast hover three, zero, zero, meters from target at angels one, five, zero, zero. Do you copy? Over.”
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” replied Lawton.
On the video, Cone observed both subjects as they ran. He could tell the lead person was a female; she wore no helmet. Behind her a bigger person, obviously a male soldier, followed in a stumbling trot. Ahead of them, through the desert, was a row of houses. The video provided clear evidence. These had to be the two renegade ROAS soldiers and, sure enough, on the video, a facial recognition alert popped up naming the female as McMichael. Cone watched as both exited the desert, ran across a street to a nearby house, and tried to get inside. The targets had just made a big mistake. Even if they got in, they’d end up trapped. Pleased at the turn of events, Cone smiled.
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Arming AG one, one, four, locked on target, permission to engage. Over,” asked the pilot.
On the monitor, an aiming reticle now centered on the modest suburban home, and Cone grew more excited.
“Inspector, the pilot is ready to launch a JAGM surface to ground missile. The payload carries a massive wallop capable of destroying a tank or a re-enforced building. More than enough for a small house. Just give the word,” said Lawton.
Lisa could swear she felt the wind from the Custer at her back as she raced towards the front of the nearest house. It was a single-story, newer adobe-style track home occupying a corner lot. Without hesitation, she ran to the front door and turned the handle. Locked! Not waiting, she ran around the side and discovered another door alongside the garage and tried again. Still no luck! Again, she made a quick decision and, using her shoulder, shoved hard. But the door didn’t budge! In the background, the deadly beat of whipping rotors continued.
Out of nowhere a panting Master Sergeant Upton was beside her. He lifted his leg and, using the flat of his foot, with a huge grunt, kicked at the door. A loud crack ensued, and the wooden frame splintered, causing the door to bang open.
Driven by fear, Lisa pushed past Upton and entered a two-car garage devoid of vehicles. A good sign, she thought. No one was home.
Upton followed and tried closing the door behind them, but she could see it wouldn’t stay shut. Holding it closed, he stretched out a foot and nudged an old car battery against the broken door.
With the door sealed, Lisa moved towards the only other exit in the garage, leading into the house, and tried the handle. To her surprise, it turned. Pausing, she pulled out Kinney’s sidearm then pushed open the door and entered. With the Glock swinging right and left, she discovered an empty kitchen. Upton followed and shut the door behind them.
From outside, with the door closed, the rotor noise diminished but didn’t go away. Lisa knew the bastard still hovered somewhere nearby.
Regardless, she recognized the need to clear the house. Jogging out of the kitchen into a dining room then a living room, she kept her Glock trained. Nothing. Down the hall she went, Upton trailing behind with his sidearm out. Together, they checked all three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Nothing—the house was empty. To Lisa, it appeared as if the people who lived there tidied up before leaving. Someone made all the beds, cleaned the kitchen, the house devoid of clutter. By looking at the pictures, the furnishings, she guessed an older couple owned the home. She didn’t care.
The house cleared, now standing inside the master bedroom, hidden from the flying beast, Lisa still detected the sound of rotors.
Standing next to Lisa, Upton cocked his head and said, “They must have spotted us. If so, we’re sitting ducks. They could put a missile into us at any second. The safest spot is the center of the house, the hallway bathroom. Let’s go there.” Upton turned, holstered his side arm and, gripping sore ribs, hobbled in that direction.
Not knowing what else to do, Lisa followed.
Federal Inspector Cone sat dazzled by the image on the big screen, a house on a residential street with an aiming reticle centered on the middle roofline. It would be awesome to watch the home blown apart, but he needed to intervene. “Colonel Lawton hold off on engaging the target. We need her captured alive.”
Lawton spun around. “You’ve got to be joking. We have ’em. Let me give the order and carry out our mission.”
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six, I repeat, target is locked. Request permission to engage. Over.”
Cone shook his head.
Lawton appeared frustrated with the decision. He answered, “Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One continues to evaluate target video, standby one mike. Do you copy? Over.”
“Forger One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six standing by one mike. Will maintain angels one, five, zero, zero and keeping eyes on target. Out.”
“Thank you,” said Cone. By capturing the woman and using her, his career and prestige would prosper and, most important, the president would be pleased. Once she was in custody, with a little persuasion, she’d denounce the ROAS and apologize for her actions. In doing so, she’d turn from a martyred hero into a loathed traitor. He knew the president would love that scenario. The supposed hero of Mesquite turned into a farce, her face and treasonous words splashed across the Truth Network. Other than preventing her escape, killing her outright contained no big upside. Cone explained it to Lawton. “I want her captured alive. The United States needs her to counter ROAS propaganda. Consider her capture vital to our national interest.”
“Well, shit!” replied Lieutenant Colonel Lawton shaking his head. “You understand putting boots on the ground is no guarantee she won’t get killed. Hell, she’s not alone. There’re two ROAS soldiers in that house with small arms, including grenades. I suspect they won’t give up without a fight. Meanwhile, until we launch a raid, the house will need continuous observation. One mistake, and they’ll slip away. Trust me, it’ll take time to plan the operation and undertake it. Plus, someone will have to sell General Gist on the idea. You and I both know Gist is focused on Las Vegas and any deviation will cause a shit storm. Inspector Cone, I strongly recommend you seize the initiative and let me eliminate the target, right now.”
Cone ignored the argument. His mind made up, he said, “Colonel, the general has already agreed to let me take the lead, and capturing her is in the best interest of the United States. Now, who should I work with to make it happen?”
Lawton considered the statement and then answered. “For the record, I think you’re making a mistake. With that said, in my opinion, the best man for conducting an operation of that nature is Lieutenant Colonel Paulson. With your consent, I’ll call off the bird and make sure reconnaissance remains in place. Then, we can walk next door and see the general. It’s your call.”