Battle Road (21 page)

FORTY ONE

Agent Goodman sat at his desk in his dimly lit home office swiping his thumb across the display of his Android tablet. He was reading documents for work and got tired of saying, “next page,” or “down page,” while he read. He preferred to swipe the display instead. It was easier. Sometimes newer technology isn't always better.

The upstairs was quiet. No sounds of the high def TV, no laughter, no little feet running around. Goodman had sent his wife and kids away to stay with his parents in upstate New York. It was a precautionary measure. He knew he was a target now and didn't want to risk their lives. He missed them all the same.

At nine thirty five pm the computer signaled an incoming transmission from work. It was Agent Green on the screen. “I'm sorry to disturb you at this time Sir, but we have a person claiming to be Agent Fraser on the phone. Voice and facial recognition is confirming it's Fraser. And he's only willing to speak to you, Sir. We've got traces going on the line right now but I don't think we're going to get anything with it. He's got the transmission pretty well protected.”

Goodman couldn't prevent himself from looking surprised. He never imagined that Fraser would contact him. It took a few seconds to regain his composure. “What do you make of it, Agent?” he asked.

“
He wouldn't say anything to me, but honestly, my first thought was we may have made a mistake in our assumptions. He may have been legit the whole time.”

“
Transfer the call, let's see what the fuck is going on,” Goodman said, pushing his chair closer to the desk and straightening himself up.

Dylan appeared on the computer screen. His face had a green luminescence from the dashboard of an automobile. Dylan was the first to speak, “You piece of shit motherfucker. You fucking betrayed me. You had no faith in me and you fucking betrayed me. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I had everything under control. I had everything you wanted on the terrorists and more. Now, you don't get squat. Instead I'm going to kill you. Do you understand me.”

Goodman took a breath, trying to gauge the situation. “It was you who betrayed me. You were under strict orders.......” Goodman was cut off from speaking further. “I had to change the plans. I had to improvise to make them believe. And guess what. It worked. They bought me hook, line, and sinker, motherfucker. I had everything for you. Not just a single command center. I obtained information that would shut down the entire rebellion in most of the eastern United States. I got it all. Instead you killed my friend, you ...”

It was Goodman's turn to cut Dylan off, “Dylan, stop and listen to me carefully. Yes, I did think you turned traitor. I was certain of it. But I didn't kill your friend Brooks. He's alive and well. I faked his death. It was a ploy to try to bring you out of hiding. I didn't kill him because I thought he'd be useful to us in the future. Though believe me, after talking with him for a couple of minutes, I wanted to kill him. He's a fucking pain in the ass.”

Dylan's face went blank. He starred at the camera for what seemed at least five seconds. “If that's true, I want to be brought in. I want my life back. I want this nightmare to be over with.”

Goodman smiled, trying to ease Dylan's nerves. “Come into headquarter tomorrow. We can talk there, everything's going to be alright.”

“No,” Dylan said firmly. “I want to see Brooks first. I want to see him in person. Out in the open. And I want to turn myself over to you personally. I don't trust any of your trigger happy henchmen. If I see Brooks, then I'll know you're telling the truth. I'll apologize to you then in person for insulting you. And, ah...... telling you I was going to kill you. I was pretty worked up.”  

Goodman countered his offer. “I'll have Brooks out in any public square you want. But I won't be there with him. I'll have Agent Greene outside with Brooks. I'll be nearby. That's my offer.”

Dylan rubbed the tips of his fingers back and forth across his face with one of his hands as he pondered his response. “OK, that sounds fair.” Deliberately waiting another few second, he continued with his demands. “I want to see Brooks in the center of Harvard Square in Cambridge, by the news stand, at ten thirty tomorrow morning. I don't want anyone else around. No policemen, no Homeland security. Just Brooks and Green.”

“
I'm glad things have turned out the way they have Dylan. Everything is going to be OK. I'll see you right after you make contact with Agent Greene.”

“
One other thing. If I see any cops, if I see any drones, anything at all other than Brooks and Agent Greene you'll never see me or my information ever again,” Dylan spoke in a more solemn tone.

Goodman contained a snarl from crossing his face. “Alright, we have a deal. I'll see you tomorrow. Ten thirty, Harvard Square. God Bless you.”

“God Bless you,” replied Dylan, terminating the transmission.

FORTY TWO

A fog was visibly rising off the dirty snow banks in Harvard Square. Rising into a murky, overcast sky above. Typical mid March weather when the temperatures climb into the high fifties in New England. The snow cover in the Square and surroundings parks had mostly vanished from the morning's rain, exposing dirt and debris along the sidewalks.

“Testing, testing, can you hear me Mrs Robinson?” Dylan spoke through this Bluetooth earpiece for his v-phone in his back pocket. He was wedged into a church steeple. Technically it was the belfry of the steeple. He had cut out a rectangular hole from the inside. Giving him a perfect vantage point over the buildings of Harvard Square.

“
I hear you loud and clear Benjamin. What's your time?”

Dylan checked his digital watch once again. “I've got nine fifty eight, thirty six seconds.”

“Check, I have thirty four seconds past. Good enough,” Tien spoke quietly through her earpiece.

He waited in the wooden cubby hole high in the church. It was tight a fit, and difficult to move around with his body armor beneath his jacket. The view was obscured by the fog, though with his mini binoculars he could see well enough. At six minutes past ten, Dylan saw the first Homeland Security officer emerge onto a rooftop adjacent to the section of  Harvard Square where the old Newsstand stood. The area that Brooks and Greene were suppose to be. Moments later another officer appeared next to the first. Then another. They were dressed in black; black boots, black hats, black body armor. They moved fast, crouching as they quickly made their way to the edge of the rooftop. Staying out of sight from below. Dylan observed them move almost in unison, probably about ten feet apart, towards the edge of the roof. Before reaching the edge, as if on queue, each of them put a down a knee and unslung their sniper rifles.

Dylan focused his binoculars on the other buildings. He could see several more sharpshooters on the building directly across from the first group of soldiers he spotted. Then more on another building to the left. He counted nine sharpshooters in all. Every angle of the Square looked to be covered by their sniper fire.
If you are still alive Brooksie, I'd never have lived long enough to see you
, he thought.

Dylan scanned the sky for drones, none were visible. They'd be holding them back, he figured. Out of sight somewhere close. Maybe higher up, hidden in the fog. It was definitely meant to be a low profile operation. A trap he was never meant to walk out of.

“I found them,” Tien said. She had just taken a left onto Garden Street with the stolen Subaru hatchback and saw the large metallic gray, unpainted trailer. Without question the Homeland Security mobile command center. “It's parked at the far end of the Cambridge Commons, on Waterhouse Street, by Mass Ave.”

She took a right onto Waterhouse Street and parked the car near the intersection, in an illegal spot. The only spot she was going to find. But more importantly, far enough away from the command truck so she would not be noticed. She scanned the sidewalks and park for any signs of plainclothes police. The park was clear of any people. She couldn't anyone on the streets that looked out of place.     

Dylan echoed back on the radio, “Check, at the far end of the Commons, Waterhouse by Mass Ave. The sharpshooters are in place just where we expected. They don't have a line of sight on the Command truck. We're in luck. It's a go.”

He climbed down from his perch and exited the church, carrying a medium sized black travel suitcase that he had brought in with him. It was ten fifteen. Exactly on time.”What are we looking at?” Dylan asked as he walked through Harvard Yard.

Tien got out of the car for a better vantage point of the command vehicle. “Looks like the standard security, two DHS cruisers, one parked in front and one in back of the trailer. Two soldiers per vehicle. They're wearing body armor. No sign of any drones.”

Dylan stopped and looked around the Yard. It was the normal pedestrian traffic of Harvard co-eds. Nothing out of place and nobody within earshot. “Check, two DHS cruisers. Standard setup. Are you ready Mrs. Robinson?”

Tien had already walked back onto Garden Street to get out of view from the Homeland Security police. “I'm ready.”

“
Thirty seconds, that's it,” Dylan said, reminding her they had to complete the final part of their mission in under thirty seconds.

“
I know the plan. Just tell me when,” Tien talked as loud as she dared.

Dylan looked around one last time. “Now,” he said. He place the suitcase on the ground, pulled out a v-phone from his jacket pocket, and hit the preset number to the Cambridge Fire department. “Hello, there's a fire in one of the buildings in Harvard Yard. I don't know the name of the building. I'm just walking through the Yard. There's smoke everywhere. You gotta get here fast.” He hung up. Then hit the second preset number on the phone. “Hello, police. This is Jim Lester at the Harvard Coop in the Square. We're being robbed. There's two white men with guns. They already shot one person. We need help.” Dylan hung up and tossed the phone on the ground, it didn't matter if anyone saw him.

He pulled a second v-phone from his other pocket and swiped the screen to open the display. “Now the fun starts,” Dylan said to himself, though Tien was listening of course. She said nothing. He picked up his suite case and carried it towards the tall iron gates at the northern edge of the Yard. As he walked, he lifted the v-phone higher to see the display and pressed the first icon on the screen. A flash grenade in a trash barrel detonated at the southern side of Harvard Yard. Screams ensued. People started running in every direction away from the point of the non-lethal explosive. Dylan tapped the second icon. A smoke bomb detonated in a trash bin behind one of the buildings in the Yard. More screams where heard. People were yelling 'fire'.

Dylan made his way outside of Harvard Yard, reaching a rack of motorcycles adjacent to the ivy covered brick walls of the Yard. Sirens were heard nearby, they were loud. He walked to his motorcycle, putting the black suitcase down on top of the bike. He looked at his watch, then at his v-phone. He tapped a third, then a fourth icon on the screen, detonating additional flash grenades and smoke bombs on the other side of the Harvard campus, down by the Kennedy School. He opened the suitcase and removed a machine pistol, pulling out the clip and checking it was full. Satisfied, he quickly pulled the firing mechanism back, inserting a round into the chamber. He shoved the gun into the left side holster under his jacket.
Lock and loaded,
he thought. Next out of the suite case was a black 9 millimeter automatic handgun. He cocked it and put it into the holster on his right side. Lastly, removing the Khymat grenade rifle with a full magazine inserted.

Dylan slung the rifle across his back and pulled out the ammo clips from the bottom of the suitcase, jamming them into his jacket pockets. He climbed on his motorcycle and put his thumb on the start screen. The engine started right up. The gas powered bike roared.

By the sound of the sirens blaring, Dylan judged the Cambridge Fire trucks were on Mass Ave. They were stopped at the main entrance to the Yard by Harvard Square, blocking the road, jamming up the Square. More sirens blared in the background, they too were very close. Dylan lifted the v-phone into view once again and hit the next intended icon. Several more flash bombs and smoke bombs went off. Six in all. These explosions surrounded the center of Harvard Square, where Brooks and Greene were suppose to have been. More panic ensued, people screaming or yelling as they fled in every direction.

The last icon on the v-phone remained. Dylan eyed it for a short while. He wanted to pause for maximum effect. He counted to ten, then tapped the icon. A series of very loud explosions were heard. They went off one after the other in series. Four, five, seven, nine. Ten explosions in all. Bombs that Dylan and Tien had planted on the roof tops surrounding Harvard Square the night before. These were the big bombs. Quarter bricks of C4-b, these where intended to do damage, with the hope of killing or injuring as many snipers as possible. Or at least disorienting them for a little while.

Tien looked at her watch as she walked back to her car, trying to get her timing right. She opened the rear hatch and pulled out a maroon colored baby stroller. It slid out easily, as she had practiced. The interior fabric of the carriage had moved to the side exposing the four bricks of C4-b. She quickly pushed the fabric to cover up the explosives. It was a reflex. At this point it didn't matter if civilians saw anything. She leaned into the back of the car and lifted the canvas tarp covering her weapons, putting the Khymat rifle in the carriage first, followed by the M4 assault rifle with laser targeting. She covered the rifles, then pulled out two magazines for the M4, filling her coat pockets. Then picked up her trusty 9mm automatic, cocking the gun, and putting it into her holster under her leather jacket.

“
Ready,” she called out to Dylan.

“
OK, let's do it.” She heard him respond.

Tien pushed the baby carriage along the sidewalk towards the mobile command center. She was on the opposite side of the road from the truck. Fifty yards back. She walked hurriedly, but not too fast to draw attention.

Forty yards now. The Homeland Security officers closest to her where standing together, guns drawn, looking in the direction of the pandemonium over in the Square.

Thirty yards. She could see the officers rocking back and forth.
They're nervous
, she thought.

The folded out metal steps to the entrance of the command center faced the street, on the far side from her location. The door was open, though nobody stood in the doorway. She was now twenty yards away. She slowed her speed down a bit. Not  just to get her timing right, but she didn't want the officers to take special notice of her. At ten yards away she heard Dylan in her earpiece, yelling over the roar of an engine. “Fuck'n A.” At that same moment she saw him in the distance crossing over Mass Ave on his motorcycle, onto Waterhouse Street, with one hand clutching a machine pistol.

Zero yards. Tien was adjacent to the two DHS officers standing in the middle of the street. A parked car sat between them and her. They paid no attention to her, their focus suddenly shifting to the motorcycle in the distance. She heard with the earpiece, “Tap, tap, tap, tap....” Dylan opened up with automatic gun fire. One of the DHS officers, from the first car further down the street from Tien, was hit and thrown backwards onto the ground. He rolled over on the ground and tried getting up, the body armor may have saved his life, but it's still like getting hit with a baseball bat to the chest.

Tien pulled the M4 out of the baby carriage. She raised the rifle to her shoulder and stepped to her side for a clear shot over the the hood of the parked car.

Dylan swerved his motorcycle to the side of the road, sliding to get behind a parked car. He was down fast. The DHS officer still standing, opened fire. Bullets tore through the vehicle, shattering all the glass. The downed officer, finally getting to his his feet, opened fire with his machine pistol. The parked car quickly became a mangled wreck, with tires exploding, smoke billowing out of the engine.

Dylan raised his gun above the trunk of the car and fired through the broken out windows. He fired with a sustained burst, emptying the magazine. He aimed high, only to give the impression he was returning fire. Tien was out there, he made sure not to hit her. The ploy worked, the DHS officers took cover. Though he was pinned down were he was.

A red dot marked the side of the head to one of the DHS officers across from Tien. Pop! She squeezed off a single round from her M4. Blood, brain matter, and bone fragments splattered in a conical spray from the other side of the man's head. Blood splattered on the second officers face. He turned to see what had just happened, when he caught sight of Tien. The look of sheer surprise, then horror crossed his face, as a red dot landed on his forehead. Before he could move a muscle, pop, Tien fired her second shot.

The remaining two Homeland Security officers focused on Dylan. Unaware of anything behind them. One of the officers fired his weapon continuously, laying down a covering fire, while the other officer worked his way around to the side, attempting to flank Dylan and get a clear shot at him.

Tien moved in between the two parked cars that were next to her, still keeping her cover, but getting an unobstructed view of the police shootout with Dylan. She was about to line the cross hairs of her rifle scope up with the red dot on one of the officers, when two Homeland Security agents, dressed in slacks and white shirts and ties, jumped out of the front door of the command center. They were carrying M4 assault rifles. Tien lost her target as she looked up. The agents started firing their rifles, full automatic, in the direction of Dylan, continuing the cover fire as the officer got closer to flanking him.

“
Anytime now, Mrs Robinson,” he called out over his earpiece.

Tien pushed the rifle firmly into her shoulder and took aim once more. She had four targets. Pop. She took out one of the Homeland Security agents right off. He fell face first. The second agent was fast on his feet. He swung around to see Tien fifteen yard behind. He moved to the side, Tien's shot grazed his shoulder. The agent opened fire, without having the time to take careful aim, his rifle down by his side. He let out a short sustained burst, the weapon had only six or seven rounds left in the magazine. Tien stood fixed in place. Her eye never leaving the sight of her scope. The bullets flew around her. One grazing her arm. Another piercing her coat. The agent scrambled to reload. It didn't matter. Tien had the red dot dead centered on his white shirt in less than a second. The agent, seeing the dot, knew it was over. He looked up at Tien, just as she pulled the trigger. He flew backwards several feet, his dead body landing ass first.