Apparently not.
“We’ve got to get you inside,” Chris says. “And the rest of the representatives.”
“It’s not just us they’re trying to kill,” I reply. “It’s the officers — you and Devin and Uriah. The top dogs.” Chris doesn’t argue. He knows I’m right.
“Let’s go,” he says.
We start to head for the cars, but Elle appears from the other side of the Humvee that we arrived in. She screams, “Don’t!! Go back, go back!”
Bravo is barking, and Chris pulls me backward. Elle sprints across the green meadow, threading through the mass of soldiers and militiamen and women taking defensive positions against the invisible attacker.
The detonation slams through us, a daisy chain series of explosions. Pieces of twisted metal hurl through the air. Flames erupt inside the vehicles, turning them inside out, spewing hot glass and metal over the meadow. I roll behind the corner of the podium and Chris shields me with his body. Devin hunkers down. Elle stumbles and falls. Chris grabs her ankle and drags her behind the cover of the podium. I pull Elle close to my chest and we huddle up together, the heat from the flames singeing my clothes, warming my face.
Bravo stays near Elle as pieces of destroyed vehicles are flung into the sky, landing everywhere. Black, billowing waves of choking smoke spreads across the meadow. It is chaos, insanity. I can feel the sweat dripping down my chest, sticking my shirt to my skin.
“What do we do?” I ask Chris.
“We get inside,” he says, repeating his earlier plan. “We get to cover.”
I get a cold, chilling flashback of the Battle of the Grapevine. I see myself running through a huge drainage pipe, away from Jeff Young’s lifeless body, as dozens of men and women in our ranks suddenly turned on us, creating the same kind of chaos that we have here today.
“Follow me!” Chris yells. “Go!”
He’s up and running across the meadow, keeping his head down, shoulders tucked, body moving. I follow, keeping behind his shoulder, light and quick on my feet. Elle and Devin are behind me, including Bravo.
We cross the street, quickly picking our way through the carnage of the ruined convoy. My mind is reeling — how could they have all been rigged to explode at the same time? And if they were rigged, why didn’t they blow up while everyone was inside the vehicles?
There is a row of barracks here, light tan buildings in neat rows. We slip between two of them. Chris kicks the door open and we rush inside the building. The interior has been cleared out. There is nothing but rows of bunks and shuttered windows here.
“Stay here,” Chris says.
“No freaking way!” I reply, angry. “I’m a Commander, and I do not stay behind.”
Chris opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. He knows that I am right. He cannot protect me anymore. I am no longer his sole responsibility. Sophia and Andrew step inside the barracks. Andrew is holding a radio, streaked with grime and smoke. Sophia is heaving, a ribbon of blood slipping down the side of her neck.
“We’ve secured the area,” Andrew says. He pauses. “I think.”
“You don’t know?” Chris says. “I’ll be damned if Omega’s going to push their way into Monterey.” He walks to the door, turning to me. “Cassidy. Stay here.” Devin gives me an apologetic look and follows Chris. Apparently birds of a feather flock together.
I heave an exasperated sigh, then turn to check on Elle.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, a detached expression on her face.
I look at Sophia.
“Keep an eye on Elle,” I tell her.
“But I’m—”
“—Don’t argue with me, Lieutenant.” My tone is harsh. I’m in no mood to argue with Sophia. I am in charge.
I step to the threshold of the door, overlooking the meadow. The grass appears to be smoldering, covered with hot metal, patches of plants in flames. There are militiamen and National Guard patrols going through every building, checking every nook and cranny of the compound.
Whoever did this is gone.
Behind me, Bravo whines softly, deliberately sitting in one place, a position I had taken him to exhibit only when he finds explosives or poison. I look at Elle. “I don’t understand,” she says, searching the room.
There is nothing below our feet but a slab of concrete.
“I’m not babysitting,” Sophia snaps. “Andrew? Come on.”
“Sophia, Cassidy gave an order—” he begins, but Sophia storms past him anyway. Andrew shakes his head. “She’s been impossible.”
“Sorry,” Elle shrugs. “Bravo must be smelling traces of old explosives in here.”
“You sure? How come he didn’t detect the explosives in the convoy?” I ask.
“He would have.”
“So what happened?”
Sophia leaves the room, infuriated. Frustrated.
Elle stands up from her crouched position next to Bravo, and suddenly the dog relaxes. She raises a confused eyebrow. “He never makes mistakes,” she says quietly. “I think it was a daisy chain. A series of linked explosions, hard to detect. And I didn’t get a chance to check everything out when we got here, anyway.”
The fact that somebody could even get inside the Presidio to do something like that is more than merely disturbing — it’s terrifying. I take a few deep breaths.
“Stick with me, Elle,” I say.
She nods. She and Bravo follow me outside, into the clearing. The wreckage is depressing, and the bodies of the soldiers who were caught in the explosion lie twisted at unnatural angles in the grass. Elle’s face goes taut, mimicking my own expression. Like me, Elle has probably seen death on more than one occasion. It’s a scary reminder of the reality of what war is. War is death. War is bloodshed.
“It doesn’t get any easier,” I tell Elle softly. “It helps to think of why you’re here when you see this stuff. Remind yourself of the good things.”
Elle stares at me, licking her lips.
“It’ll be okay,” I say.
I walk to Chris. He looks tired. There are dark circles around his eyes, and there is nothing but sheer anger in his voice.
“Bravo caught an explosives scent in the barracks,” I tell Chris.
“I’ll have the bomb squad check it out,” Devin replies, overhearing our conversation. “My God, have we got some cleanup to do.”
His words hang awkwardly in the air. To my left, they are moving the lifeless bodies of Nathanial Mero and Ken Thrawn off the podium. There are still fresh streaks of blood on the ground from their wounds. I feel like crying, but the tears won’t come.
“How many people are dead?” I ask Chris.
He folds his arms across his chest.
“At least nine,” he answers, low. “It could have been worse, but it never should have happened in the first place.”
“I’m beginning to think there are Omega spies everywhere,” I say.
“You’re not far off,” Devin comments.
I look down at my shirt, covered with Nathanial’s blood. Droplets are still caked to my hands. I shudder and look over the Pacific Ocean.
It doesn’t matter where we are.
Omega always finds us.
Chapter Nine
It’s early. I slip out of my hotel room and shut the door behind me, clicking the lock into place. I check my weapon, my extra magazines, my knife. I am armored up. I haven’t been able to sleep. My mind keeps replaying the day’s events. Every time I close my eyes I see Nathanial dying or Ken being shot in the head.
My security detachment follows me wherever I go, no matter what time it is. They shadow me, quiet and respectful, allowing me to think, but near enough to protect me if needed. These men and women are comprised of soldiers from the Naval Postgraduate School. They are all strangers to me, and they take over my protection while my primary Lieutenants — Uriah, Vera and Sophia — are sleeping.