“Travel will be restricted?”
“Only if we run into trouble, which is why I’m putting you to work on this before we arrive. I’ll provide you with a secure satellite communications kit and a ruggedized laptop. You’ll communicate directly with me, or in some cases my S-2. Can I count on your help, Captain Fletcher?” said Grady, extending a hand.
Alex weighed the situation. Taking the “deal” solved most of their immediate problems. It provided a heavily armed, government-sponsored escort to Maine, which, given the acutely hostile environment, seemed well worth the price. Long term, the military rank and security ID gave them an additional layer of protection and privilege, regardless of whether Grady’s predictions came true. Priority medical treatment for his son’s leg or, at the very least, access to medical supplies. Transportation. He envisioned safely returning to Durham Road to collect his family’s personal effects. Pictures, scrapbooks—everything they’d left behind.
Grasping Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s hand, he knew the job involved far more than relaxing at the Fletcher compound, reviewing files and typing up reports. A deep instinct told him to walk away, but he brushed it aside and shook Grady’s hand, standing at attention immediately after.
“As you were, Captain Fletcher. Welcome back to the Marine Corps,” he said, handing Alex the thick file folder. “The papers contain executive summaries of the data found on the flash drive. You’ll set your own password when you plug the drive into the laptop. I’ll activate your ID card and meet you in Harvard Hall to release the electronics gear. S-4 will set you up with some battle rattle, and off you go.”
Grady considered him for a moment and nodded slowly. “Alex, I really appreciate you doing this—on top of everything you’ve already done for the battalion. Our reunion here was providence. I’m sure of it.”
“If not, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“Too big for that. I’ll see you in a few,” said Grady, walking toward the operations table.
“Colonel Grady?”
The battalion commander looked back.
“Does Homeland have a file on me?”
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s just say that activating your ID will be a one-click evolution,” said Grady.
“I didn’t give you my information yet.”
“Like I said,” he smiled and knelt next to a monitor displaying a map overlay of Boston.
“Captain Fletcher,” said a young marine from the left side of the tent. “You can sneak out the back door. Head right to supply in Harvard Hall. Your family will be there shortly.”
Nausea hit him in a sudden, quickly passing wave. Homeland Security’s omnipresent hand felt suddenly oppressive. The government’s level of knowledge about everything and everyone was disturbing. Alex wondered what might have happened if he had refused Grady’s offer. Would Homeland have changed his status and paid him a visit in Limerick? Did their banter about favors have more meaning than Alex realized? Maybe the choice had never truly been his to make.
Providence, my ass.
Chapter 24
EVENT +59:42
Middlesex Fells Reservation
Medford, Massachusetts
Even the windshield wipers worked surprisingly well in the Matvee. He’d imagined the same shitted-up, blurry ride he’d experienced with the venerable Humvee, but everything about the Oshkosh Defense’s M-ATV sang the words “major improvement.” Visibility through the tiny bullet-resistant side windows sucked, but that shortcoming was more than compensated for by the small arms and IED impregnable armor design. He felt secure inside the tactical vehicle and wished he could convince himself to leave the Jeep behind. He pointed at the granite sign marking the entrance to the reservation’s lower parking lot.
“Take a left at that sign.”
The corporal driving hit the tactical vehicle’s siren, which sounded like a police car, while the marine in the turret yelled at the thick stream of refugees blocking the entrance. They had stopped using the horn twenty minutes ago. The trip had been stop and go most of the way from Harvard Square, rarely exceeding fifteen miles per hour. News of the battalion’s evacuation spread quickly, prompting a large percentage of the civilian holdouts in the areas surrounding Cambridge to take flight. Perceptions ruled the day. The past twenty-four hours had been marked by frightening exchanges of distant and nearby gunfire. With the marines gone and the bridges unguarded, Cambridge was now vulnerable to the threat south of the Charles River.
The convoy cleared the crowd and slowed in front of the concrete underpass.
“We gonna clear that, Barry?” yelled the driver.
“Good to go!” said the turret gunner, sticking a thumbs-up through the hatch into the cabin.
The corporal eased the Matvee under the train trestle and roared forward toward the main parking lot. A few seconds later, Alex stopped him.
“I think this is it. Chandler Road.”
“Not much of a road, sir,” he said, pulling the left side of the vehicle as close to the trail marker as possible. “Confirmed. Chandler Road. Is there room to maneuver in there?”
“It’s not worth getting one of your vehicles stuck. The Jeep is a half mile away. I can walk it,” said Alex.
“Your guy can’t drive it out, sir?”
“We moved a few downed trees across the path. It’ll take two of us to move them,” he said, glancing back at Ed in the rear driver’s-side seat.
Rain poured through the open turret hatch, soaking both the rear passenger seats. Ed raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Ryan and Chloe sat jammed in the rear troop compartment.
“Kids, I’m headed out to grab Uncle Charlie and our Jeep. I’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes.”
Ryan nodded, still wiped out by the painkillers.
Chloe smiled wearily, looking a little more like the joyful, carefree young woman he remembered. The further they drove from Boston, the more she emerged from the mental barrier she’d constructed at the North Beacon Street Bridge. Alex knew from experience that she would never fully step out from behind the wall, but given enough time and compassionate support, few would notice. He returned the smile before activating his handheld radio.
“Durham One-Seven, this is Durham Three-Zero, over.”
“This is One-Seven. Solid copy.”
“I’m coming in on foot. Tactical vehicles won’t fit down the trail. Meet me at the first obstacle with the Jeep. How copy?”
“Oh, man. What are we talking about here? M-ATV? Fully armored troop carrier variant? It’s an M-ATV, right?” squawked the radio.
Alex winked at Ed. “I brought two of them, my friend,” he said to Charlie.
Prolonged static filled the cabin.
“One Seven, you still there?”
“You’re gonna make me drive the Jeep back, aren’t you?”
“How could I deprive you of this? You’ve earned it. The marines will stick you in one of the turrets, if you don’t mind the rain—and promise to keep your hands behind your back.”
“Holy shit! Are you serious? In the turret? What kind of firepower are we talking? Is there somewhere to sit, or do I have to stand the whole time?”