He waited three beats for the noises to move away and then took his opportunity to escape.
Outside he reversed his course and made his way to the inner security fence. Before he got there he heard the sound above and looked up. Maybe that was the source of all the ruckus going on here.
The small jet was coming in for a landing on the runway that ran east to west behind the buildings that constituted the Air Force station. The landing gear hit the asphalt and the pilots applied the brakes along with the thrust reversers, and the small jet rolled to a stop. As it did so, several people hurried over to the plane and a golf cart drove up and parked next to the aircraft.
Someone of importance was clearly arriving.
For Robie, the temptation to see who was getting off the ride was too strong, overriding his good sense. But in Robie’s line of work one’s personal safety was not paramount. His focus was mission-centric. He had come to gather intel, and this alone might be well worth the clandestine visit. In fact, this might be just as important as what he had found in the file cabinet.
He reversed course and edged along the side of a building, until he gained a sight line to the runway as the plane’s airstairs came down. Robie moved closer still as a few moments later the passengers began to deplane.
The first person off was a tall man around fifty with broad shoulders. He was not in uniform but rather in a trim, dark suit with no tie. The second person off was a woman, also around fifty, dressed in a gray pantsuit. She clutched a soft-sided leather briefcase. The last person off was another woman, younger, dressed in a dark skirt with a matching jacket. She was checking something on her phone.
Robie watched all of this and even managed to snap pictures using the camera built into his optics. He followed their movements as they walked over and climbed into the golf cart. As soon as they were in their seats, the vehicle zipped off. Robie took some more pictures before the cart turned and disappeared between two buildings.
The next moment Robie was off and running.
Because it was clear to him now that they did indeed have dogs here. And they had picked up on his presence.
As he ran he took three items from his pocket and tossed them behind him in a triangle-shaped pattern, each about five feet apart from the other.
He glanced back; the beasts were running free. Luckily their handlers were nowhere in sight because while Robie had a chance with the canines, he had no chance against a fired bullet. There were two of them: one a German shepherd that looked big enough and vicious enough to rip his arm off, the other a smaller Rottweiler who looked even meaner. Robie had it on good authority that the surprises he had left behind would do the trick and that even the best trained dogs would not be able to resist, even when in full chase mode. He hoped the authority was really that good.
Both dogs skidded to a halt and attacked what he had left behind. As soon as they took a bite of what he had dropped, they wobbled and fell over. They would be super attack dogs again, but only long after Robie was gone.
He scaled the fence twice as fast as he had coming in and successfully avoided the pressure plates.
The fired round came out of nowhere and hit him on the lower right side of his back. The plate absorbed the kinetic energy and flung it across the face of the vest. Robie wasn’t dead, but he felt like he’d been kicked by a seriously pissed-off thousand-pound mule.
The second fence was climbed even faster than the first. He dropped onto the other side as the searchlight began its sweep and alarms blared throughout the complex.
He immediately hoofed it into the darkness.
But then his life got even more complicated.
Will Robie would have expected nothing less.
THE CHOPPER LIFTED OFF a helipad and swiftly moved west, hot on the trail of the intruder. A searchlight sparked to life on the starboard side of the aircraft. Its beam bore down over the countryside, dramatically illuminating the flat dark land as though it were suddenly aflame.
A few moments later the beam caught and held on its target.
A second later the SUV roared to life and its headlights came on. Before it could drive off, though, the chopper was hovering in front of the vehicle, its .50-caliber nose cannon pointed right at the windshield. One rumble from the weapon, and the SUV would be shredded and the occupant dead in a nonsurvivable field of fire.
Over the PA system the pilot ordered the driver to step out of the vehicle.
The driver did not comply with this order.
The chopper hovered there for another minute while the pilot communicated with the higher-ups on what they wanted done with the situation.
A minute later the chopper landed, and four heavily armed and armored men climbed from it and surrounded the SUV. When their orders to come out were not obeyed, they were about to force the issue when the SUV horn started blaring loudly. The men took a step back as the driver’s-side window started to come down. Every man pointed his assault rifle at this spot, ready to open fire the moment a weapon appeared.
The glass hit the bottom and stopped. The blaring horn ceased. And the truck’s engine cut off. The men looked at one another before charging forward.
They reached the side of the truck and peered inside. The front seats were empty. The back seats the same. The rear cargo area held nothing.
The curses could be heard over all their collective comm packs when this was relayed back up the chain of command.
* * *
Will Robie kept the throttle on the electric scooter wound as far as it could go, as the little bike, its headlight off, moved nearly silently over the quiet roads. He was already miles away from the site of where he’d parked the truck in which he’d carried the scooter. He’d programmed in the truck starting, horn blaring, lights coming on, window coming down, and engine cutting off, then executed all of those commands through his phone app. He had watched the chopper and strike team approach the vehicle through a camera built into the grille of the truck, with the video feed going directly to his phone.
He veered down a side road and ditched the scooter in an abandoned shed, as prearranged. He drove off in a pickup truck that had been left there for his use after stripping off his gear, underneath which he wore jeans, a corduroy shirt, and boots. A Stetson hat completed his disguise. He could be a local coming home from either a bar or a job.
He made it back to town in three-quarters of the time it had taken him to drive out.
He parked the truck behind the hotel where Decker and Jamison were staying.
* * *
Decker was sound asleep in his bed when he heard a slight noise that made him sit up.
“Piece of advice: You might want to become a lighter sleeper.”
Decker clicked on the nightstand light and looked over at Robie sitting in a chair with a placid expression.
Robie held up his phone. “I just sent you some documents and pictures. I’m here to provide context.”
“What do the pictures and docs concern?”
“Ben Purdy, who used to work at London AFS.”
“Used to. When did he leave?”
“Around the time they transitioned to Vector.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know. And his papers don’t say. That’s a puzzler because they would normally list what his next deployment was. The files I looked at for other personnel all did.”
Decker picked up the phone off the nightstand and opened the email. He took a minute to scan down the pages that Robie had photographed.