The Eagle's Last Stand Read online

  “And we don't?” Dagos asked.

  “If your government really cares about you, they'll get you out of here ASAP.”

  Dagos's eyes dimmed. She wanted to argue that Commander Ham would save them, but if he didn't see the benefit in that, he simply wouldn't. It wasn't about whether or not the government cared for them at this point. It was about whether or not they were an effective part of the war effort.

  “Take it easy, soldier,” she swallowed dryly.

  A grin split Wilson's face. “You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Your government won't save you any more than they'll save us.”

  “There's more to it than that,” Dagos said. “We're on a time-urgent mission, Wilson.”

  Getting out of the Sore was pretty time-urgent, too.

  “You said we could join you, right?” Dagos asked. Not that she planned to, but if she had to pretend to switch sides to save her skin and finish this operation, she would. She'd never really be betraying her government, only acting like she was.

  “Oh, you're that loyal, huh? If you want to join us, you'll have to pass our test. The test is you stay here and let us leave. Maybe we'll throw the rope down for you. Maybe we won't.”

  Dagos understood the implications. He would force them to stay here. It would obviously be too much of a risk bringing them along.

  In response to her silence, Wilson licked his lips. “If the government does rescue you, be sure to let them know Team Circa is back.”

  She vaguely recalled the name. It didn't mean much, but maybe hers would.

  “I've got another idea. You might recognize me as the Eagle. From all those videos. I have a lot of sway thanks to my position. Come with us. Help us complete our operation. Afterwards, I'll make sure you get to see your families again.”

  Wilson cast his head from side to side. “Things we've done, it won't matter.” Yet she could see a hint of hope in his weary eyes.

  “This mission means everything to us. You know the government. If we're successful, they'll find a way to exonerate you. Besides, we aren't exactly damsels ourselves.”

  Wilson bit his lip and exchanged a look with the soldier beside him. He shrugged. “We could always take her hostage.”

  Wilson frowned and looked back to Dagos. “Nah. Wouldn't be worth it. I think we'd be better off on our own.”

  Dagos couldn't believe him. Then again, he'd spent the last couple of years as a Frayed. That was bound to hollow out your core.

  “Think about it. There are Anunnaki and blood mobs out there. And once you betray us, any government soldiers will kill you. Come with us and we'll have six.”

  The man looked down, clearly wrestling with the idea. She was close. She had to sweeten the deal somehow.

  “You know about the Conifers, right?”

  “What about them?” Wilson asked.

  “Currently, human forces possess all four of them, including the life Conifer. We can heal you. It doesn't matter how bad it is.”

  “Bullshit,” another soldier said.

  “You want to know how the Eagle's survived so much, well that's one of her secrets,” Sledge said.

  Wilson cut the distance between them by a step. His nostrils flared for a second that never seemed to end. Dagos could see a decision forming in his eyes. She didn't know what he was deciding, though. She'd either get a bullet in her gut or—

  Her eyes stung at the rush of red, and she looked away. He must've been aiming the laser directly between her eyes.

  “Tell it true. You swear on your life that you'll pardon our sins, heal us with the life Conifer, and help us find our families?” Wilson shouted.

  Dagos breathed out slowly. “I'll do everything in my power to get your crimes forgiven and get you access to the life Conifer. And if your families are out there, we'll find them. I promise you. One soldier to another.”

  In a heartbeat, Wilson lowered his weapon, and the red vanished from her eyes. Black dots spun in her vision, but she registered Wilson's men drop their weapons, too.

  16

  Reports of Anunnaki on Venice and 1st. All other areas normal, a local radio broadcast said. Mitch turned down the volume dial.

  “You just couldn't find it on your own, could you?” Mitch said, leaning over Dagos to open the glove compartment. He still wore his SWAT team uniform.

  “At least we made some new friends,” Sledge said from the backseat of the Hummer. The survivors of Team Circa bordered him.

  “I don't have enough ration bars for all of you, but you can take what's there,” Mitch said, adjusting his Kevlar vest.

  Dagos grabbed a bundle, passed them out, and tore open a military-grade Snickers bar for herself.

  “So, why'd you save us?” she asked bluntly. Really, she was wondering why he'd even bothered following them. Because how else could he have known they ended up in the Sore?

  “I saw potential in you.”

  Everyone shared a laugh at that.

  “On a more serious note, I gave you the address because I...” He cleared his throat and pointed almost imperceptibly to the backseat.

  “We've got bigger fish to fry than whatever you're up to guppy,” Wilson said.

  “Hey, you're talking to an important officer of the West Coast Militia Patrol who just saved your behinds.”

  “Yeah, one too rusty to duck out of the way before getting laser painted.”

  Dagos shrugged apologetically. “Continue.”

  Mitch sighed. “I gave you two that address because I figured the guy you'd meet would sell you his army.”

  “Sell us his army? You sent us on a wild goose-chase to find a mercenary?”

  “Not a wild goose-chase and not a mercenary. A mercenary dealer.”

  “Big difference,” Sledge said, rolling his eyes.

  “Please never roll your eyes again, okay big guy?” Dagos said. It just looked plain weird on a man who made his living being intimidating and almost heartless.

  “Sorry.”

  “So yes, I hoped you two would find an army to get you to Jakarta.”

  “He's lying,” Wilson said. “You know that right?”

  “Oh, I do,” Dagos said. “If I had a gun right now, I'd point it at your balls, Mitch. Since I don't, why don't you spare me the trouble and come clean?”

  Mitch smiled nervously. “You know how I talked about politicking? The mercenary dealer uses blood mob armies. Some of which are pretty dangerous on their own. The Militia Patrol has to deal with them. But if those blood mob armies lost some men slaughtering the Komodos and some Anunnaki in this area, that would kill three birds with one stone.”

  Dagos nodded. It was a calculating, but clever strategy. As good a way as any for the Militia Patrol to manage the numbers of their enemies.

  “Before you hate me, remember that I saved you, okay?”

  “Saved us so that we can hire this army, right? Don't worry, I don't hate you. I'd do the same thing, myself.”

  The other soldiers laughed, but this time it wasn't quite as mirthful. There was a hint of uncertainty as if they weren't sure whether she was being honest or not. The truth was she didn't know herself. Mitch's strategy made a lot of sense. Ham would've approved. Which meant it was something she would need to get on board with.

  Whether it was Commander Ham or someone else, certain jobs didn't leave a lot of room for kindness and empathy. It was impossible to run a team of Snake-eaters without being calculating and ruthless. There were those who could get down and dirty and those who could not.

  It felt better to believe you could change this by not participating in dirty operations. But, in truth, shady missions were a confession that black ops signed every day and would continue signing. That's what soldiers like Wilson couldn't get used to.

  These thoughts kept her occupied, and she neglected the meal bar in her hand. She knew this wasn't a helpful way to feel. It wouldn't be long before they met Mitch's connection, where these concerns would only weigh her down.

  S
he took a bite of her Snickers and tried to look happy.

  “Got any water?” she asked.

  17

  They reached the warehouse at Fig and 9th without incident. In an underground parking lot of old food trucks, a unit of attack dogs and burly, grizzled men in Kevlar ringed around Mitch's Hummer and leveled their MP7 SMGs. That's when Dagos knew they were in the right place. Events moved rapidly and, in short order, they were seated on the counters, stools, and plastic containers inside an old taco truck.

  Dagos had just finished conveying her requirements.

  The mercenary dealer was a clean-shaven black man named Frederick, who wore a turquoise silk suit and pants that would've cost at least three hundred dollars before the Stock Market went kaput.

  “You see this,” he said, flashing his black and silver Breitling watch. “I didn't get this taking risky ventures.

  “You know that's a rip-off, right?” Wilson said, wearing a black balaclava. “The—”

  “No one asked you,” Frederick said, his voice like a whip. “Like I was saying, I didn't earn this by taking risks. Why the hell should I risk sending my best men in to attack the Komodos, huh?”

  Mitch said bringing in Wilson with Sledge, himself, and Dagos would be a nice show of force, but Dagos suspected they'd only made him feel more intimidated. Like they wanted to impose themselves on him.

  “Come on, you owe me,” Mitch said.

  “I owe you for helping me with a few men who wanted me dead. Yeah, fine. You saved my ass. That's not the same as loaning you a whole army. There's no way you guys can afford this either.”

  “Hasn't anyone told you who I am?” Dagos asked, knowing the man wouldn't respond to much else.

  “Let me take a guess. The Eagle. I don't care.”

  Dagos arched an eyebrow. To his credit, Frederick must've had one heck of a network on the street.

  “I don't think you understand,” she said. “The United States government is going to be really, really happy with you if this works. They'll be able to pay you anything.”

  Frederick crossed his arms. “Sure. The dollar ain't worth shit anymore.”

  “Inflation may have skyrocketed, but the Militia Patrol still uses it,” Mitch grumbled.

  “Buddy, let me ask you something. What's your dream in life?” Sledge asked.

  “My dream? What sort of question is that? Not to die from the Anunnaki.”

  Sledge pursed his lips and snapped upright, fist clenched. Frederick's men at the door ripped back the slides of their rifles and Sledge stopped in his tracks.

  The air smelled of tacos, but a bad taste spread down the back of Dagos's throat. The local big hitter scavengers had enjoyed the better part of a day to probe the crashed chopper from top to bottom. She opened to the reality that a lucky trinket-seeker would've chanced upon their designators and gear by now. Worse, they only had an hour and a half before the Anunnaki transferred Courtney to a base far out of reach.

  “I'm asking because the United States government can get you to your dream,” Sledge said.

  Frederick burst into laughter. “Ain't no one buying that bullshit. But listen up, I'm going to give you guys something. Cause I'm not here to waste anyone's time. I think you have three goals. Get in to Jakarta, free your hostage, and get out of Jakarta. And where I'd come in is helping you get in and get out. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Dagos said.

  “Good. Then maybe I can offer you something reasonable.” He picked up his walkie-talkie. “Jody, bring the watches over.”

  A few seconds later, a young dark-skinned woman entered and handed a small pony-themed backpack over to Frederick then left. He unzipped it slowly and extracted a golden watch. A designator.

  “I'm guessing these were yours?”

  “How?” Dagos blurted.

  “Someone had to buy the salvage before the Anunnaki showed up,” Frederick winked. “Now tell me, what good will these do you?”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Three.”

  Enough to get her, Courtney, and Sledge out. But enough to convince three more into coming. The problem, of course, was there was no way to guarantee these were the same ones they'd specially programmed for this operation. While designators weren't easy to come by, this Frederick obviously had connections and the methods to score highly-valued items. It would've come as no surprise if he had a few random designators lying around.

  “Those will get us out,” Dagos said. “We still need a way in.”

  “Yes, I think I can help with that,” Frederick said, interlocking his fingers. “You see I'm looking for an insurance policy.”

  “Most of the good insurers have gone out of business,” Sledge said.

  “You'll make for good insurance,” he said to Dagos.

  “Insurance for what?”

  “Ever heard of the lost treasure of Jakarta?”

  18

  Dagos stepped out of a Mediterranean food truck and closed the door behind her.

  “All done?” Sledge asked, his brow knitted with obvious disapproval. He and Wilson's men were seated on camping chairs in a circle, sharing a smoke in the middle of the giant underground parking lot.

  “You know what I did was necessary,” she admonished, gesturing for a cigarette from Wilson's pack, lighting it, and pulling up a seat for herself. In her other hand rested a Samsung phone.

  “Nothing necessary about it,” Sledge said.

  “Well, you and I differ in our definition of the word,” Dagos said.

  Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, stowed his cigarette in between his teeth, and pitched to his feet. “Why don't you give that to me? I'll find Fred.”

  “At ease, gentlemen,” Dagos said, not wanting her and Sledge's disagreement to make anyone uncomfortable.

  The five soldiers lapsed into silence. Dagos adjusted the designator on her wrist, knowing she couldn't be certain this was the same designator she'd flown in with. It was a matter of trusting Frederick. No, she corrected herself. It was a matter of having no other choice.

  Sledge never liked when she recorded speeches. Most of the time, senators or high-end government officials all but demanded it, pressuring Ham to convince Dagos for them. And she was obliged to follow through. But the speech she'd recorded right now had been all her own making. Based on experience, it was a necessity. If it never got played, all the better.

  Wilson coughed unexpectedly.

  “Been a long time since I smoked a cigarette,” he said, nudging one of his allies with his elbow. “We used to talk about this moment. We said one day we'd smoke a real cig again and here we are.”

  “I remember.”

  You couldn't tell the three of them apart because of their face masks, but Dagos knew no soldier was simply cannon fodder.

  “I don't believe I've met all of Team Circa,” she said.

  “No, I guess you haven't,” Wilson said, flicking his thumb to the man on his right. “This is Raymond.”

  Raymond exchanged a shake with Dagos then Sledge.

  “And this is Jack.”

  Jack gave only the briefest of waves.

  “He, uh, doesn't say much.”

  “There isn't always a lot to say,” Sledge said. “Just noise.”

  “Just noise,” Raymond nodded in agreement.

  Wilson coughed again and cleared his throat. Frederick had given them each a canteen, which he grabbed and took a swig of. Then, pointing his cigarette to Dagos, “I never really thanked you for this opportunity.”

  Dagos enjoyed a soft laugh. “Well, I never thanked you for not shooting us.”

  Wilson slipped off his balaclava, and his gaze fell to his designator. It dawned on Dagos that he was fixated on his own mangled reflection on its golden surface. His eyes flicked to Dagos, and he gave a crotchety groan. “They sent us in a few days after the dirty bomb went off. Our mission was to either retrieve a VIP or find his body. I assumed we'd be in and out in a matter of hours.” He paused for a puff of
his cigarette. “With our special suits, we were supposed to be okay. But our damn chopper had an engine failure and things went south from there.”

  Dagos couldn't help but see the parallels with their own situation. More than likely, the Anunnaki were broadcasting certain types of energy waves to disable aerial vehicles. Yet, no one at HQ had informed her of this. For the first time, she opened to the possibility of sabotage. Or worse, incompetence. She crossed her arms in contemplation.

  “Something catch you off guard?” Wilson asked.

  “The same thing happened to us. Maybe it wasn't an accident.”

  “Who sent you?” from Raymond.

  “Command run out of Groomlake,” Dagos said. “A classified department.”

  “Yeah, well, not us. SOG. They still around?” Raymond put out his cigarette on the side of his chair. He was referring to the CIA's Special Operations Group.

  “Got merged with another agency about a year ago,” Sledge said.

  “You might find it strange for me to say this, but it was more likely the Anunnaki than anyone on our side,” Wilson said. “Even though the government deployed us, it was on behalf of some rich Saudi. Someone's nephew. US still wanted to keep some doors open over there for oil, I guess.”

  Dagos would've killed to go back to missions that innocent. It occurred to her that, in one sense, she was doing exactly that.

  “So, how'd a guy get the name Sledge?” Wilson asked, changing subjects.

  Sledge gave a dry grin that said, Screw you for asking, but I'll tell you, and rubbed out his cigarette on the cement.

  “When I was fifteen, I brought a sledgehammer to school so I could bash the class bully's brains in. Got caught before I could pull it off. That earned me my lifelong nickname.” He smacked his hands together, interlocked his fingers and rested them on his lap. “And there you have it.”

  “Even then you had a fine sense of justice,” Mitch said wryly, appearing from behind one of the trucks with Frederick.

  The mercenary dealer looked them over. “It's about go time. My men will meet you at the train station.” He paused and saw the phone in Dagos's hand. “Is that for me?”