“Got it. You better be here when I get back,” said Alex.
“We’ll be here. I’ll have hot chow and coffee waiting for you and the kids. Lieutenant McGarrity?” he said, scanning the tent.
“Yes, sir,” said a stocky officer watching the UAV feed by the pilots.
“Escort these two gentlemen over to the main supply point and arrange a ride to Fire Support HQ. Supply has their gear. Replace anything we smashed or slashed. You better get moving. The situation over there could change in a heartbeat.”
“Thank you, Sean. I owe you one,” said Alex, shaking his hand.
“Careful what you say. I might cash in on that if you’re still handy with one of these,” said Grady, returning Alex’s HK416.
“I can hold my own,” said Alex. “One last thing. Sergeant Walker could use a weapons upgrade,” he said, patting Ed’s shoulder.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Ed.
“I’m not taking you over with a Ruger 22. If Colonel Grady can spare—”
“I’m not going,” he said.
“That’s the first thing out of his mouth that’s made any sense. Good luck. Get ’em moving, Lieutenant.”
Alex grabbed Ed by the arm and guided him through the tent flap. “I’m willing to take you, if you want to go.”
“I can’t walk another mile on these stumps right now—let alone try to swim the river,” said Ed.
“We’ll float you across,” said Alex.
“The river isn’t the issue. I appreciate you letting me come this far.”
“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” said Alex.
“It’s better this way. Trust me,” said Ed. “I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t get left behind.” He looked up at the ancient buildings crowded over them. “They have less than twenty-four hours, and Grady knows it.”
“I’ll get the kids back before it all goes to shit. Just a walk in the park,” said Alex.
“Make sure you write down all of our frequencies. I picked something up on my way out of the tent,” whispered Ed, pressing something against his ribcage.
“Either that’s a radio antenna in your pocket or you’re really happy not to be swimming the Charles,” said Alex.
“It’s both.”
Chapter 41
EVENT +44:58 Hours
Hyatt Regency
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex paused on the eleventh floor stairwell landing and put his hands on his knees. Taking deep breaths, he fought the wave of nausea that had decided to join him on the seventh floor. Unlike the other landing areas, which were illuminated by a single red chemlight, the eleventh was bathed in green light from three chemlights taped just above the exit-door window.
“How we doing, sir?” said Corporal Rodriguez, his unflagging stairwell escort.
“Better than you,” grunted Alex.
“Good. We got six more floors to go,” said Rodriguez.
Alex sighed and straightened himself, embracing the fact that he was going to meet their platoon commander with vomit on his new gear.
“Just kidding. This is our floor,” said Rodriguez. “You should have seen the look on your face, though. You really going across?”
“My son is at Boston University.”
Rodriguez nodded with a blank look.
“You got kids, Rodriguez?”
“Family’s in Lowell. We’ve heard it ain’t so bad up there.”
“I came through Haverhill. Not much going on in that area. They should be fine,” said Alex.
“For now—until this mess spills north,” said Rodriquez, knocking on the door and standing directly in front of it. “It’s Rodriguez! I got your mystery guest!”
A face appeared in the window, and the door opened. “Get back down to the patio, Rodriguez. We got a situation on the riverbank,” said the marine inside the hallway.
Rodriguez disappeared down the stairwell before Alex could say a word.
“You gonna stand there all day?” asked the marine.
“No. Sorry,” said Alex, stepping into the dark hallway.
“NVGs,” said the marine, shutting the door and casting the hallway into complete darkness. “Fuckers across the river have some night vision capability. We’ve moved twice already.”
Alex flipped his night vision goggles down and followed the marine left. A night-vision-equipped helmet peeked around the corner at the end of the hallway. They slid past the hidden sentry, who reported their approach through his headset, and walked halfway down the long hallway to a door on the left.
“Welcome to platoon headquarters. Stay low, but don’t crawl. There’s glass everywhere,” he said, opening the door.
He followed the marine inside and scanned the room.
“This was your third choice?”
“At first we thought the Rain Man suite would be too obvious. Turns out it doesn’t matter where we set up. Bar is to the left—don’t mind the snipers,” he said. “Captain Baker, our battalion guest is here.”
“Bring him out, Staff Sergeant,” said a voice from the far right.
A crack shattered the quiet, flaring his night vision. Alex whipped his head left. A sniper team was set up behind the bar, their instruments of long-range death aimed across the room toward the empty windows facing the river. Seated on bar stools, they had adjusted the stool height to perfectly accommodate using the bar as a platform for the rifle and spotting scope. The sniper pulled back on the bolt and ejected the spent casing onto the shell-littered granite slab, sliding another round into place.
“I can’t see him anymore. Looked like a hit,” said the spotter.
“Busy night?” said Alex.
“Getting busier. Captain is out on the patio.”
They walked over broken glass to a wide patio spanning the entire length of the suite. Two marines crouched along the front of the patio wall, scanning the distance through their rifle optics. Three sat against the back wall of the patio under an empty trellis. An array of radios sat on the tile floor, cables snaking out to several tripod-mounted antennas next to the outer wall.
“Over here,” said one of the marines along the back wall.
They approached, staying crouched below the top of the patio wall.
“Grab a seat, Mr. Fletcher. The CO speaks highly of you. Sorry to drag you up here, but I have a little problem you might be able to help me with. I’m told you have a thermal scope?” said Captain Baker.
“It’s not rifle mounted,” said Alex.
“Even better. The battalion’s Raven is busy up north, and I think we’ve got a problem under the BU Bridge. There’s an old rail bridge that passes under it. I have a team watching it from the boathouse, but there’s still a shitload of intact foliage down there. We’ve caught some movement on night vision, but I’d like to take a look with thermals before I send a team,” said Baker.
“Be my guest,” said Alex, pulling his assault pack off and digging into one of the pouches.
“Excellent. It’s a little embarrassing, but we have no thermals. It was supposed to go into the response kit, but it never happened.”
“Was all of this part of a special kit?” said Alex.
“Comms gear and vehicles, yes. The rest is battalion issue. We didn’t have many equipment failures. Everything has been EMP hardened over the past five years,” said Baker, taking the scope. “Let’s have a look.”
They scooted to the forward wall, moving the two marines out of the way. Baker poked his head over the top and aimed the scope down Memorial Drive, toward the Boston University Bridge. He made a few minor adjustments and settled in, leaning against the concrete patio wall. The platoon commander keyed his Motorola.