He left the cell without another word. Eddie tried in vain to get him to come back, to get a few more answers, but the commander disappeared, and an hour later Eddie heard the helicopter lift off. What did he actually come here for?
Eddie tried to process the entire ridiculous conversation. Boli’s English was terrible. Eddie reasoned Boli had spoken to him in English so the other officers upstairs watching wouldn’t understand. But the camera was off, wasn’t it? So why would it matter? Why not just use Arabic? Or is his Arabic worse? Doubtful.
Whatever the commander’s reasons were for anything he’d done, he had actually answered several of Eddie’s questions. First of all, Lazzo was still alive. But Boli had indicated he and Lazzo had a plan Eddie knew nothing about, going all the way back to when they were working in Intelligence in Denver together. Lazzo knew our families were alive all the way back in Denver? Why didn’t he say anything? And now Eddie was being kept alive as insurance to make Lazzo follow through on his plan with Boli. That is what the cameras must be for… to show Lazzo live feeds of me and our families. Their families. Lazzo’s family must be here. His wife and baby? And my daughters?
Eddie heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He moved over by the bars, curious as to who was coming. He glanced up at the camera, but the red light was still off. Why is it still off? The soldier who had always been nice to him came around the corner and approached the bars. He glanced up at the camera and quickly handed Eddie a folded piece of paper containing something solid before he continued down the hall. Eddie heard him say something in Arabic to someone. Is there a guard down there? Is that why Boli used English? Eddie moved over under the window and pretended to be looking out at the ocean while he casually glanced down at the piece of paper. It was a rudimentary drawing—a map—of what had to be the prison. He could easily identify the stairs and his cell and a chain of cells moving on down the hall. There was a red circle in his cell and black circles in most of the other cells, but there were two other cells with red circles. Two in one—one in the other.
There were a series of X marks on the paper too. Six to his left, one three cells down from him—around the corner, and another three more cells down—between the two cells with red circles. Then there were four more Xs at the end of the cells. Guards? Does this mean there are twelve guards? Finally, there was a series of numbers scribbled across the bottom. “38.72527, -104.94581.” What the heck? Are these supposed to mean something?
Eddie glanced back at the camera. The red light was on now. He told himself not to look at the camera again, as his fingers clenched tightly around the object that had been folded into the paper—a brass key.
Lazzo was in America again. Supposedly he was on his way to Denver to give Commander Boli the book he’d spoken of. Once Boli had that book, he’d have no further need for Lazzo, for Eddie… for any of them. It sounded to Eddie as if that time was imminent. Could be tomorrow, could be a week… could be more. Eddie had to get out of here. He had to save their families. He had to warn Lazzo—stop Lazzo—but how?
THIRTY-ONE – Pringtime Reservoir (Danny)
I assumed the paratroops were coming for us. Keena, Blake, and I had only arrived at the Pringtime Reservoir two hours ago. I was certain the enemy’s radar had detected our Desert Patrol Vehicles cutting across Colorado—that the high-tech scramblers our Area 51 “DPVs” were equipped with had failed to do their job. This was the third set of planes I’d seen fly over and drop off troops. I was certain they were coming for us. Their approach was just a bit unorthodox—landing so far away. Assuming I was right about our equipment’s shortcomings, I kept our radar off, hoping to buy us time and maybe even a little luck. As a result, we were blind—I had no idea how many other vehicles might be closing in on us right now. And then the drones flew over and didn’t pay any attention to us whatsoever. They didn’t really even come close. Maybe they weren’t here for us.
What the heck? Why are they staying so far south? They could easily surround us at the reservoir. The drones could literally blow us out of the water. Why not try to do so? Keena, Blake, and I were flipping through the map book, trying to figure out where the troops were coming down. Best as we could tell the last troops—just after sunset—had been dropped about two miles southeast of us near another lake like this one—Skaguay Reservoir. We were still 16 miles from the coordinates on the instruction sheet I’d been given on Kauai but couldn’t afford to go any further tonight.
We had parked the two DPV’s in a deep ditch and did our best to cover them up. We laid thick branches over them, covered those with a tarp, and then covered the tarp with dirt and leaves—like a tiger pit. It would have to do. With all the troops falling out of the sky, we had scrambled to get out to the island. Cold water was always our friend in these life or death hide-and-seek “adventures.”
Throwing only the most essential supplies into our waterproof backpacks, we made the swim out to the island in the middle of the reservoir. Blake was the only one with night-vision goggles—which would be useful in a couple hours. He also had the only effective long-range weapon—Keena’s MK20. Keena had given me her Springfield 9mm, leaving her with just a knife. The DPVs had .50-caliber machine guns strapped to them—and we had a thousand rounds for each—but none of us was going to lug those suckers around. We had to make do with these items, a couple Himalayan sleeping bags—no bigger than a roll of toilet paper when packed—a first aid kit, MREs, water, camo paint, flint, flashlights, a compass, our Marine “ghost suits” and the book. I still had the book.
Midnight came and went—six hours after we’d reached the reservoir—with no sign of Axel. It seemed a certainty he was gone for good. That sobering reality locked each of us into our own train of thought for a while. Around 1:00 a.m. I caught myself dozing off, shook my head to clear the cobwebs, and stood to wake the other two. “We’ve gotta move, guys.”
Unless things had changed since we’d initially fled the country, Qi Jia didn’t like to send their drones out at night. Given that it was hard to tell the difference between person and large animal with thermal, that made sense. That made the cover of darkness—like cold water—another of our valuable “natural” friends. Of course, we were well aware of the natural hazards out there too. I still had nightmares of mountain lions and Cameron’s death—occasionally—and just the thought of one of the big cats could send chills up my spine. They could sense our presence, and stalk us, long before we could see them.
Blake and Keena repacked their sleeping bags, and pulled their still wet Marine jumpsuits back on. The jumpsuits—or “ghost suits”—were great for cover. They were reversible—black on one side, tannish green on the other—but they did not dry well. That sucked.
We hadn’t seen or heard a single enemy soldier at the reservoir. They either weren’t here for us after all, or they were waiting for dawn to close in. We swam across to the other side of the reservoir and slowly made our way toward Knights Peak.
Given the extreme elevation changes, darkness, and treacherous topography, it took us five hours to cover nine miles—just over halfway to Knight’s Peak. A deep growl had held us in place for one twenty-minute period—around 4 a.m.—but we’d otherwise moved without more than an occasional breather. Traces of light were beginning to show in the sky ahead of us at 6 a.m. We knew we needed to climb—quickly—and find a place we could hide out for the day. Somewhere we could easily keep an eye on the area around and below us.