I took the satellite phone outside to access the communications satellite in geosynchronous orbit high above the Earth. The first call I made was to Pete Sturtevant, a member of my team who’d been with me from the beginning. Pete’s the guy you want to have your back because you know nobody does it better. Pete was a little older and a little bigger than I am, something he liked to remind me of often. He’d spent time in a Ranger battalion before being selected for Special Forces, which was where we’d met. While Special Forces emphasized physical conditioning, along with language training, prisoner-of-war training (known as SERE, short for Survival, Escape, Resistance and Evasion), land navigation, parachuting, and other specialty skills, Rangers believe physical strength is key to their success. Pete was no exception, with large biceps, broad shoulders, and well-muscled legs.
“Sturtevant,” was all he said when he answered his phone.
“Hey… we have a situation here that needs your attention ASAP. How soon can you get our team up here?”
Pete knew exactly where I was and that the call was coming in over a secure satellite phone. That, and the fact that I called at all and asked for a team, gave Pete enough information to know that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him a lot over the phone. Something had happened and reinforcements were needed. Every time I went out in the field, an ops team was put on standby. It didn’t happen often, but Pete knew that if he got a call — this call — he needed to be prepared to go. True to form, he had plans already in place. Despite that, he fully intended to give me grief about it… good-natured bantering between guys who have shared time.
“Creating hate and discontent again? This was supposed to be a no-brainer. I had plans for the weekend.”
“Get over it and get your ass out here.”
“I guess I can squeeze you in. We’ll get a hop into Travis Air Force Base in Sacramento, then helo to Mendocino and drive down. Be there in a few hours.”
I smiled at his state of preparation. “Copy that. Call me when you land. I’m at the safe house.”
“Will do.”
I went back inside, got out an apple I’d brought with me, and took a big bite out of it. I wasn’t particularly hungry but I wanted to keep my caloric intake up while I could. I kept the lights in the cabin off just in case the area wasn’t as secure as I thought it was. It wasn’t likely that anyone was out there, but it was a dark night and I wanted my eyes to adjust to it so I could more easily see if someone was approaching the cabin.
After I finished the apple, I decided to get some rest. Rules of survivaclass="underline" eat and sleep when you can. I could get a few hours of sleep in before Pete and the team arrived. I found the bedroom, took off all my clothes, and crawled under the blankets. I closed my eyes and immediately dropped off to sleep. I’m not one of those people who could sleep late in the morning or for long periods, especially since my tour ended. I tended to sleep lightly and for short periods, but I had the ability to fall asleep literally within a minute of closing my eyes. On occasion, I’d take some meds to keep me asleep for a while — but never when I was on a job.
CHAPTER 13
When I woke a few hours later, it was quiet and dark outside. I was used to getting up before dawn. I was just wired that way and had been getting up early my entire life. Something to do with my Catholic upbringing, I guess, and going to early Mass as a kid. I pulled on a T-shirt, sweat pants, socks, and running shoes and headed outside for a quick run. Exercise in one form or another was part of who I was. It wasn’t something I had to do. I didn’t think too much about it. I just did it.
A ‘quick run’ for me was a couple of miles. I didn’t really like treadmills because the scenery never changed and it’s too artificial, so I usually opted to go outside and just start running. The cabin was in a rural area of Willits, about 20 miles inland from the Pacific Ocean, which afforded me some quiet roads, both up hill and down. I liked that because it reminded me of home growing up. I never ran with my iPod on. That was a distraction to the task at hand, which in this case was running. I learned at a young age to focus and not use distractions as a means to avoid feeling pain or discomfort. Feel everything; see everything. Control your environment.
Like most people who run a good distance, I’d usually get an endorphin high that always left me feeling good. Even though it was cool and damp, I quickly worked up a sweat. For some strange reason, I liked to sweat. It made me feel alive. But unlike most people, I liked to use the weather to help me train. The worse the weather, the more I liked it. To test myself when I was younger, I would go for long runs when it was raining and miserable outside. I looked for ways to challenge myself when it meant something to me. No crowds, no awards, no finish line — just a personal challenge. At first, I’d run short distances, like down the street and around the block. As I got older and stronger, I’d run around the block two or three times. My challenge back then was to run longer and faster, so I’d continue to push myself a little further each time I ran. I learned, though, that the number of trips around the block was meaningless. It was just a number. I reasoned if I could do ten trips around the block, then I could do twenty. And if I could do twenty, I could do more. It was less about muscles or wind capacity, and more about mental discipline. So unlike marathoners who train to run discrete distances, whether it was 3k, 5k, 10k, or 25k, I would run until I chose not to run anymore.
Today I chose to run for about thirty minutes. That would give me time to get back, take a shower, and down a quick cup of coffee before I headed into the plant for the debriefing.
As I ran, my thoughts turned to the drill the night before. Running always got my blood moving and pumps oxygen to my brain. I just think better when I exercise.
The Headlands had good security people. They weren’t rent-a-cops. Many were ex-military, and most of them were Marines, though some of them passed their prime a few squares back. They carried themselves well and were well organized. But they suffered, like most civilian security groups, in that they tended to think of themselves with a bit more respect than perhaps they deserved. These guys were salaried employees who worked defined shifts, to secure a commercial nuclear power plant from a very specific kind of threat, which was believed to be minimal. They got to go home every day to a home-cooked meal if they were married, watch their favorite TV shows with a bottle of beer and their feet up. They drove expensive trucks with fog lamps, sunroofs, and heated leather seats. They liked to take holidays off so they could barbecue ribs or steaks and generally enjoy the perks of family life.
I knew they were good people and my purpose in being there was to help them, not break them down. What I struggled with most was that I didn’t think they appreciated the unpredictability of a determined adversary. They appeared to be good at putting down civil disobedience or the occasional trespasser. They handled protestors well, like when the local antinuclear groups, now calling themselves ‘pro-safety', lined up to attempt a show of solidarity at the front gate a year ago. What they struggled with was how to handle an enemy of the state. The Headlands was a commercial facility, not a military one, a distinction the plant staff embraced, but terrorists didn’t. If someone wanted to create terrorism, all they had to do was to create fear in an area that people didn’t think they had to worry about. Something they thought was inherently safe, like plane travel or Tylenol. Damage to one of the sixty-five nuclear power facilities in the country would challenge their sense of safety. Prichard understood that too, which is why he’d hired NeXus—and specifically, me.