He glanced around at the gatehouse while the guard fumbled with his papers. There were two guards out front and a third in the gatehouse. That one would pose a problem, Mathew knew, making silent gestures with his hand that ordered one of his men to get into position. They didn’t dare risk allowing anyone to raise the alarm. The aliens had taken over patrol duties in part of Washington and a firefight with the Snakes would scupper the whole plan. At least there weren’t enough of the scaly bastards to guard everywhere…
“Your papers appear to be in order,” the guard said. His voice sounded emotional, so he probably wasn’t a pod person. Mathew smiled inwardly. He would enjoy killing the collaborator. “However, we don’t have room…”
Mathew sprang forward, drawing the knife from his sleeve in one smooth motion. The guard had no time to react before Mathew had clamped one hand over his mouth and slashed his throat neatly with the combat knife. His victim stumbled to the ground, falling onto his knees as the life ebbed from his body. It was almost eerily soundless, but Mathew knew that they were committed now. The other two guards had been taken with the same mixture of stealth and speed. Now all they had to do was take out the remainder of the pod people.
The intelligence report they’d received had stated that two companies of enemy fighters — collaborators and pod people — were based in the warehouse complex. That gave the enemy roughly two hundred men, not counting supporting staff. Mathew allowed himself a breath and then led his SEALs around to the warehouses. They hadn’t been designed to serve as barracks; a quick glance inside confirmed that the pod people had done nothing more than spread out blankets on the cold floor and lie down to sleep. Mathew had slept in worse places, but he was mildly surprised that the pod people didn’t rate better accommodation. Their masters considered them expendable, after all. They wouldn’t complain — and they could be easily replaced.
He reached into his belt and produced the four grenades. They’d been designed by the CIA and developed under a black project fund that had never been made public. Each grenade carried a compressed mix of nerve gas that would rapidly kill anyone who hadn’t been injected with the antidote before being gassed. They’d been used against terrorist complexes in the past, slaughtering the enemy with brutal efficiency, but the public would have objected if they’d known American forces were using nerve gas. Gas still had the power to scare people, just like nukes and enhanced radiation devices. He pulled the pin on the grenades and threw them into the warehouse, knowing that the gas would spread rapidly. A moment later, he saw the sleeping bodies start to convulse as the invisible gas struck their bare skin and killed them. None of the pod people managed to do more than stumble to their feet before the gas overwhelmed them. It would be gone a long time before anyone wondered what had happened to the barracks.
Refusing to take it for granted, Mathew led his SEALs in a quick circuit of the complex. They found a pair of soldiers who had clearly been trying to sneak out for something, both caught by the gas before they could get out or back to their blankets. Mathew winced at the expressions on their faces and dragged them both back into the warehouse. Two SEALs had already started stripping down the bodies, removing weapons, armour and clothing. Everything was in order, thankfully. The first phase of the plan had been completed. The second phase was about to begin.
Jason shivered, and not just from the cold. He’d helped arrange for the defector to escape from the Snakes, but that was different. This time, he was putting his own neck on the line — and if the aliens suspected him, he was dead. Only his position as a senior collaborator entitled him to a ration of gas and a car, yet that hadn’t stopped two roadblocks from stopping him and demanding explanations. Luckily, they’d both been composed of pod people, who accepted alien-cleared authorisations without question. He’d parked the car outside what remained of the ring of steel that had once surrounded Washington, before the resistance had started to smash it. It hadn’t occurred to him until it had been too late that someone who didn’t know that he was working for the resistance might see the car, assume he was a collaborator, and open fire. The car wouldn’t stand up to bullets…
“Evening, son.”
Jason almost wet himself. Someone was standing right beside the car, yet he hadn’t seen or heard him coming. Panic bubbled up in his mind, before he remembered that Sanderson had promised that someone would be there to meet him. The older man reminded him of Sanderson, somehow; they had the same chin and eyes. His father, perhaps, or an elder brother. There was no way to know for sure.
“Evening,” Jason said. His voice stuttered. “I… who are you?”
The newcomer smiled. “The black eagle is sitting on the red flowerpot,” he said, cheerfully. Jason relaxed. That was the code phase he’d been told his contact would use. “Do you have the documents?”
Jason nodded. “Most of them,” he said. “I got everything Sanderson asked for…”
“No names,” the newcomer snapped. “Not now and not ever.”
Jason flushed. “I got everything he wanted,” he said, “but I couldn’t get weapons permits for others without blowing my cover. I looked around to see what else I could find…”
“Don’t worry about it,” the newcomer assured him. Jason passed him a folder of documents, which he scanned quickly. “Everything looks to be in order, wouldn’t you say?”
“The documents were issued yesterday,” Jason said. “They should be good for another few days at least. I inserted them into the computer databases as your friend ordered, so they should pass muster…”
“Let’s hope so,” the newcomer said. “Question; do you wish to accompany us or go to a safe house until everything is over?”
Jason hesitated. “I can’t go back, can I?”
“Probably not,” the newcomer confirmed. “If it all goes to hell, they’ll use the documents to track you down and then turn you into a brainwashed slave.”
“I’ll go to a safe house,” Jason said. It wasn’t particularly heroic, but he’d never set out to be a hero. Besides, what use would he be to the resistance fighters? “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” the newcomer said. “And well done.”
The Colonel watched as one of the resistance fighters led the young man off on a long hike. It was three miles to the safe house — not really a problem for a trained soldier, but one that might be harrowing for someone who hadn’t had anything like enough exercise. But it would do the young man good and besides, they didn’t dare risk driving without permits. He turned and looked towards the four trucks that had been stashed away since the aliens had come into the open, waiting for the day of reckoning.
“All right,” he ordered. “Mount up.”
He climbed into the cab of the first truck and muttered a command. The truck burst into life and started heading down the road, back into Washington. Ahead of them, assuming that the aliens hadn’t changed their deployments again, was a roadblock manned by pod people. The aliens themselves seemed content to use their troops as a mobile reserve, rather than pin them down to guard roadblocks and mount random patrols. The Colonel could understand their feelings. Their manpower was far from unlimited, while they had vast numbers of pod people to throw at the resistance. The pod people were expendable. On the other hand, NATO had learned in Afghanistan that too few troops meant that counter-insurgency was impossible. The aliens might well lose control altogether, even if his plan failed. And then what would they do?