Chapter 28
EVENT +65:18
Parsonsfield, Maine
Eli leaned forward to examine a piece of stained poster board that featured a crudely drawn map of the Fletcher compound. The ancient velvet sofa creaked with his movement, causing one of the men standing in the background to break the silence.
“Damn, Eli. This is close quarters, and I’m not ready for a chemical attack.”
A few of the men stifled laughs, but quickly straightened up when he fired a murderous stare at the disheveled, overweight bald fuck that made a joke at his expense. The room was pushing ninety degrees from the late day sun, compounded by insufferable humidity. The ten men jammed onto folding chairs in the cramped living room of Eli’s mobile home had turned the place into a cesspool of body odor and shit breath. He’d have held the meeting outside if the mosquitos and no-see-ums hadn’t pushed him to his limit earlier. He was looking for an excuse to reinstall some discipline in his organization, and Dennis whoever-the-fuck looked like a good candidate to serve as an example.
“Dennis, I need to have a word with you outside.”
“I’m sorry, Eli. It was just a joke. I wasn’t thinking, and it just flew out of my mouth. Won’t happen again. I promise. Seriously.”
“You done?”
Dennis nodded with a pained look of regret and fear.
“Outside.”
“Eli, I really—”
The handheld standing on the kitchen counter next to the sofa squawked. “Liberty Actual, this is Recon One, over.”
Now he had Jeffrey Brown dicking up his job, too? There was no feasible way for Brown’s radio to transmit eight and a half miles. They had been lucky to get a mile and a half out of these pieces of shit. Either Brown had abandoned his assigned reconnaissance position early, or every hill and tree between here and Limerick had been obliterated. His bet was on the former. Eli reached out and grabbed the radio, never taking his burning eyes off Dennis.
“Why are you out of position, Recon One?”
“I saw something that needed to be reported, sir.”
“Unless you saw my nephew’s SUV, you better get your ass back into position.”
“You need to hear this, Eli. I just witnessed a small convoy of military vehicles pull into Gelder Pond.”
“Say that again?” said Eli, noticing most of the men in the overcrowded room shift uncomfortably.
“Three vehicles approached from the west on Old Middle Road and turned into Gelder Pond. Two Matvees and one Jeep Wrangler running with no lights. I say again. They were running dark, with no headlights. The two military vehicles reappeared seven minutes later and turned east on Old Middle, heading toward Limerick.”
Kevin McCulver, his second in command, stood from his chair next to the couch and mouthed, “Jeep?”
“Are you positive that you saw a Jeep Wrangler?” said Eli.
“Affirmative. I watched them through night vision. Four-door model. Driver only,” echoed Brown.
“Could you determine the color?”
“Negative. Too dark without the night vision scope. Definitely Maine plates, though. Do you want me to head back to the OP?”
A sudden combination of exhilaration and uncertainty forced Eli to pause. He needed a moment to process the implications and spin them in his favor. On one hand, he was thrilled by the sudden appearance of a Jeep matching the description of the one used to ambush his brother, especially in the vicinity of the Gelder Pond compound. Connecting the Jeep to the assassination of his nephew should remove any shadow of a doubt that the attack on the compound was legitimate, not that he had heard or detected any opposition to the proposed operation. His men seemed eager to put their training to use, however he suggested.
On the other hand, he couldn’t readily explain the presence of a military convoy, unless the story he had concocted had been some kind of subconscious manifestation of his true suspicions. He’d blurred the lines between fact and fiction so many times in the past three days, he could barely keep it straight himself. Shit, maybe he’d been right all along. He hoped that wasn’t the case. A government-sponsored, false-flag operation of this magnitude meant they were headed for trouble. Federal trouble. Once he mopped up the Fletchers, or whoever they claimed to be, he needed to accelerate the recruitment and training of his army, on the off chance he had to lead a real fight against a government occupation.
“How many men do you have at the OP?”
“Three, including myself. I left two behind to keep an eye on the road,” said Brown.
“Roger. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Head back and tell your two men to stay in position and observe the entrance to Gelder Pond for the rest of the night. Then drive straight to HQ. We have some decisions to make. How copy?”
“Solid copy. Turning around now, sir.”
“Good work out there. Make sure those two don’t fall asleep. We need to know if those military vehicles return. Did you see any mounted weapons?” said Eli.
“Affirmative. M240s.”
“Roger. See you shortly. Out.” Eli placed the radio on the counter and resumed his position on the couch. “Dennis?”
“Yes, sir!” he said, standing at attention.
“You pull shit like that again and I’ll hang you from a tree. Copy?”
“Copy, sir.”
Dennis’s ghost-white face betrayed no emotion. He stared at the middle distance like a good soldier. One more slip-up and he’d join Hatfield in the barn.
“Mr. Brown’s sighting can’t be a coincidence. Hatfield confirmed that a black, four-door Jeep Wrangler participated in the attack at Milton Mills yesterday. My brother reported it over his radio, right before the ambush.
“Here are the facts. Gunmen in Waterboro kill two of our own and steal their car. Witnesses have them approaching the two sentries on bicycle and shooting them in cold blood. Very accurate shooting, I might add. We tracked this group to an isolated property on the eastern side of Gelder Pond, complete with security gates, cameras and solar panels. This place is not your ordinary lake house.
“Now the same Jeep involved in the bridge ambush arrives at the Gelder Pond location—under heavy military escort? This confirms it. We have a government-sponsored Special Forces unit operating in southwestern Maine, and I think we just found one of their safe houses, if not their primary safe house. We need to hit this location with everything we’ve got. Break these sons of bitches and send the government a message. They are not welcome in southern Maine.”
The men stared at him, paralyzed by his suggestion for a moment.
“Tonight?” said one of the squad leaders.
“Against Special Forces?” said another.
“Early morning at the latest,” said Eli, standing up to establish some dominance over these quivering bitches.
“Mr. Russell? I heard that the shooters were women.”
“What’s your point?”
“Well, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I didn’t ask to hear you chatter away like a bitch. If you’re gonna interrupt me, you better have a fucking point. What’s your point?”
“I guess it’s that a bunch of women with guns doesn’t sound like a Spec Ops team,” the man blurted.
The room catapulted into silence, everyone avoiding eye contact with Eli.
“Why is everyone so quiet all of a sudden? Bertelson had the first sensible question of the evening. Thank you, Mr. Bertelson. Look, I don’t believe we’ll find a Special Forces team here. I’ve read about this kind of thing on Wikileaks. We’re looking at a government sleeper cell put into place after the 2013 pandemic. They go about their lives until the government initiates the next false-flag crisis. You should have seen the place by Gelder’s Pond. Definitely a self-sustaining compound—with electricity.