But that plan had been blown out of the water when a so-called rocket arrived from SRPA Command ordering Blake to stand by for a visit from a VIP, and to prep a SAR team for a special mission. A mission that would involve both Richards and Hale.
So he felt mixed emotions as the battle-scarred VTOL put down, the props stopped turning, and the cargo ramp grated on concrete. The civilian who strolled down the slanted surface paused to look around, and having spotted the group waiting to receive him, ambled over. Blake took care of the introductions, and when it was Hale’s turn to shake hands, he noticed that Dentweiler’s gloves were still on. A small thing, but he knew that life was comprised of small things, all of which typically added up.
Nevertheless, he showed the proper respect.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said, and Hale noticed that Dentweiler didn’t seem to be surprised by the color of his eyes.
“The pleasure is mine,” the official replied. “Nice job up in Hot Springs by the way. President Grace wanted me to thank you.”
A compliment from the President of the United States was a very special thing, and Hale couldn’t help but feel a surge of pleasure, but there was something about Dentweiler’s cold affect that prevented him from liking the man.
“It was a team effort, sir,” he said truthfully. “I’ll pass the message along.”
“You do that,” Dentweiler replied dismissively, turning to Blake. Together they led the way to the elevators with Richards, Hale, and the others following along behind. Though dressed in a rumpled Army uniform, the Intel officer had longish hair, three days’ worth of un-shaved stubble, and a weather-beaten face. Hale barely knew the man, but had already come to enjoy his irreverent sense of humor. “The only thing more dangerous than a Steelhead armed with an Auger, is a civilian carrying a briefcase,” Richards said sotto voce. “God help us both.”
The elevator delivered the group to the admin deck and a smartly uniformed sergeant who was waiting to escort them through security and into the same conference room where the briefing for Operation Iron Fist had taken place.
But the maps, photos, and schematics were different now. The aerial shots didn’t come as any surprise—Hale was expecting those—yet some of the pictures had been taken from ground level. That was unusual, since most SAR missions took place behind enemy lines where such photos were almost impossible to get. And even though he didn’t know the city well, Hale recognized Chicago’s war-torn skyline, and felt something cold trickle into his bloodstream. Because while an attack on a building in Hot Springs was a bit loony—a mission into stink-held Chicago verged on insane.
“Okay,” Blake said, once all of them were seated and their visitor had removed his overcoat. “Listen up… Mr. Dentweiler is here to brief us on a top secret SAR mission—only this time we’re going to bring back a person, rather than an object. Mr. Dentweiler, the floor is yours.”
The Chief of Staff’s white shirt, striped tie, and blue suit were impeccable. Light glinted off rimless glasses as his eyes passed over each face. “Thank you,” he said levelly. “Major Blake indicated that this mission will be top secret, and he is correct. Under no circumstances are you to share any aspect of this briefing or the mission itself with friends, family, or the press. Is that understood?”
All of the participants nodded dutifully, and having received that assurance, Dentweiler began what appeared to be a carefully rehearsed speech.
“As you know,” he began, “things are not going well. The Chimera have control of Canada, and are pushing south into the United States. However, thanks to the black eye that you and the 5th Ranger Battalion gave the stinks last week, plus the Liberty Defense Perimeter presently under construction, the President remains confident that we will not only be able to stop further incursions, but counterattack in the very near future.
“That’s the good news,” Dentweiler continued. “The bad news is that in addition to battling the Chimera, the government has been forced to cope with internal dissension, too. That includes organizations bent on overthrowing the elected government, all manner of whacko dissidents, and—I’m sorry to say—the occasional traitor. In this case a cabinet-level official who had not only given up on the war, but left Washington in an effort to contact the stinks and try to open negotiations with them.
“I know,” Dentweiler said, even though no one had spoken. “It’s hard to believe—but I assure you it’s true. And, what makes the situation even more shocking is the fact that the official I referred to is none other than Secretary of War Henry Walker!”
The group had been silent up until then, but that was enough to elicit a heartfelt “Holy shit” from Captain Perko, who was there to represent the Air Corps.
“Yes,” Dentweiler said solemnly, “that was my reaction as well. Frankly we don’t know if such negotiations are even possible, given how alien the stinks are, but were Secretary Walker to find the means to communicate with the Chimera, it could be disastrous. Not only because of the possibility that he might claim to represent the United States government, but because he knows everything there is to know regarding the defense perimeter. That’s why it’s absolutely imperative that you find Walker, and bring him back. Or, failing that,” Dentweiler said darkly, “eliminate him.”
Blake had been silent up until that point, but the last comment caused him to frown and clear his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dentweiler, but the charter under which SRPA operates specifically prohibits our personnel from participating in assassinations. However, if we can find Mr. Walker, I can assure you that we will bring him back.”
For a moment the Chief of Staff was silent, and then he nodded agreeably.
“Yes, I’m sure you will. And that brings us to the question of where Secretary Walker is hiding. Based on information provided by the FBI and other sources we believe he’s in Chicago.”
Having already identified the photos on the wall, Hale wasn’t surprised. Nor, apparently, was Richards—who was busy cleaning his fingernails with a switchblade. Hale wondered how he got away with it, but Major Blake hadn’t seemed to notice.
“We tracked him from Washington to Indianapolis,” Dentweiler continued, “and we damned near nailed the bastard, too, but two hours before our agents closed in on the hotel where Walker and his wife were staying, the two of them left town in the company of a so-called runner named Twitch. According to Twitch’s common-law wife, he was headed for Chicago.”
Richards sat up straight upon hearing that news and the knife vanished. “Twitch Saunders?”
Dentweiler raised an eyebrow. “I believe that was his name—yes.”
“Then they had a pretty good chance of getting through,” Richards mused. “Twitch is expensive—but he’s the best. But why? What can the Walkers accomplish in Chicago? The city is crawling with stinks.”
“There’s no way to be absolutely certain,” Dentweiler replied, “but we believe Walker plans to contact Freedom First and ask for their assistance. You’re acquainted with the organization, I believe?”
“Yes,” Richards answered. “I am. They hate President Grace, but they hate the Chimera even more, and fight the stinks every day. In fact, some people claim that something like five thousand ′brids are tied up trying to track the rebels down. If true, that’s five thousand stinks who aren’t headed south.”
“I’ve heard that argument,” Dentweiler responded, and his voice was strangely cold. “I might even buy into it if it weren’t for all the lies they tell via their illegal radio station. Which, when you think about it, is probably why the Walkers were drawn to them.”