The phalanx code, p.26
The Phalanx Code, page 26
“I found the real Phalanx Code. It’s the original version of your grandfather’s will.”
28
HEADLIGHTS APPROACHED FROM THE south. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel coming at us from the direction we had entered. We were standing in a nontactical gaggle, our eyes whited out from staring at Misha’s screen.
“The blockchain shows I am the first … to see it since your grandfather had it built,” Misha said. Her words were clear, but her speech was beginning to stutter again.
“Just a second, Misha,” I said, wanting to engage on the import of her discovery, but with more pressing tactical concerns.
Turning to Mahegan, I asked, “Is this Maximillian?”
“Standby,” he said.
Erring on the side of caution, I said, “Everyone back into the cars. Now. Move.”
Mahegan, Van Dreeves, Hobart, Matt Garrett, and I ushered everyone back into the vehicles. Blair, Brad, Reagan, Misha, Amanda, Calles scrambled into the SUVs, looking over their shoulders at the headlights racing toward us. Mahegan stepped back and began speaking into his throat microphone as he walked with Matt to the opposite side of the SUV I had been riding in. Hobart, Van Dreeves, and I assumed tactical positions on the other side.
The approaching vehicle fishtailed and spun on black ice as it caromed into the side of the tunnel and rolled, coming to a stop on its roof, spinning like a slow top. We raced to the smoking car, its engine ticking like a bomb. The radiator hissed. The air filled with the acrid smell of radiator fluid and burning rubber. Inside were four of Maximillian’s team members, all injured, some perhaps dead. Same uniforms. Same weapons. Some I thought I recognized, but I couldn’t be sure with all the blood. I didn’t see Maximillian, however, and tried to radio Barbara Ruddy but got no reception inside the tunnel.
Amanda leaped from my SUV filled with Misha and my children. She began pulling bodies from the crash. With the help of Matt Garrett, Mahegan lifted the rear of the mangled car and slid three wounded men into the opposite lane to get them away from the smoking sedan. Jake and Matt loaded them into the hatch of my SUV as Amanda tended the injured men. As I jogged around the nose of the crumpled hood, the driver was crawling from the shattered windshield. Blood coursed down his face and over his scalp as he crawled onto the pavement where I knelt next to him.
“Where’s Maximillian?” I asked.
“He’s coming,” he said. “Need to move.”
I lifted him, cradling him in my arms, then walked the thirty meters to Mahegan’s lead SUV where I slid him into the open rear hatch. Amanda stayed with the three wounded in our Defender while Matt tended to the driver I had just placed in the lead vehicle. A new set of distant headlights pierced the night to our south.
“Let’s load up and get moving,” I said. I didn’t know if the approaching vehicle was Maximillian or Drewson’s commandos. I decided to getting a rolling start instead of defending from the tunnel.
“Getting kind of sporty, boss,” Van Dreeves said.
“Let’s go,” I said, pressing the detent button on my throat microphone. Van Dreeves cranked the vehicle and started driving. Mahegan was already rolling ahead of us.
Misha leaned forward between the seats and started speaking rapidly before I told her to put her seat belt on. Van Dreeves gunned the SUV forward, following Mahegan.
“They’re in this … together,” Misha said. “Drewson. Blanc.”
She handed me her MacBook, which had a message typed on the screen.
Drewson and Blanc. The Phalanx Code is a bogus program that both Blanc and Drewson created. What Ximena gave you is the truth. The Phalanx Code was a deception tactic to fool Evelyn and me as the Zebra team tried to break and maybe change Coop’s will.
“Is Evelyn in on it?” I asked. I wasn’t sure why that was my first question, but there it was.
“Not that … I can tell,” she said. Less sure, but better than I expected.
“What’s the real Phalanx Code say?”
We continued rocketing forward along the tunnel. She retrieved her MacBook and typed.
You own Phalanx. Your grandfather left it to you. The will is still being contested by your own father.
“I own Phalanx?” I asked.
Van Dreeves swerved as he looked over his shoulder driving ninety miles per hour.
“Say that again? You mean Sharpstone right?” I asked.
Frustrated, she grabbed her MacBook again and typed quickly.
Phalanx is worth $500 billion and you’re the owner. Ximena’s flash drive you gave me shows the will encrypted in blockchain. The will is the Phalanx Code. The Phalanx Code is the will. This blockchain was protected. The entire document was never read. The lawyer who was killed a week ago? Blanc did that. Your grandfather Coop was something of a techie for his generation and a successful investor. He gave seed capital to Blanc to start an intelligence software system and a small private security company. That system became Phalanx and the security company became Sharpstone. He wanted you to have Phalanx and Sharpstone for your second career, but only after you finished the military. That’s what the real Phalanx Code says. The other “codes” and letters are all part of a game Blanc and Drewson are playing. Upon your retirement, control shifts to you. You own Phalanx. If you’re dead, then your children do. If they’re dead, Blanc gets it all.
I remembered Warden Smyth mentioning to me that Coop’s lawyer had died. It had seemed inconsequential to me standing in his office just a few days ago, but now it was the primary clue in the entire mystery of the last week.
“Then why all the bullshit? Why not just kill me?”
Misha looked over her shoulder.
“The slayer rule. If he kills you, he loses it all,” Misha said.
“Blanc and Drewson teamed up on this?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
I thought about the man in the lead vehicle and the three wounded in the back of our vehicle. The ones Blanc had added last minute to the team. Had he really checked them out thoroughly? Had we just now? Were they even Sharpstone employees?
“Sharpstone?”
Misha looked over her shoulder again and shook her head. “Sharpstone is … infiltrated.”
“All this over a will?” I asked.
“Five hundred billion dollars is some serious coin, boss,” Van Dreeves said.
“Amanda?” I said into my throat microphone.
A French voice spoke back to me as I heard a yelp from the rear.
“Too late, monsieur.”
Van Dreeves looked in the rearview mirror as three men came crawling over the back seat of the Defender, one wiping blood from his knife.
I rapid fired my pistol past Misha’s head as I used my left arm to sweep her torso to the left, away from the arc of the knife. Misha screamed and put her hands over her ears. Brad, Reagan, and Blair dove to the floorboards, though Blair came up firing with a pistol. Van Dreeves remained fixed on the road as Amanda, perhaps in her last act, shot two of the men in the back of the head.
“Insider threat!” I shouted, hoping Mahegan would hear me in the lead vehicle before it was too late. One of the men tumbled over Misha and slammed into Van Dreeves, causing him to swerve. He righted the runaway Defender and sped up to pull alongside Mahegan’s vehicle. The injured driver we had placed in the hatch was crawling over the back seat, pistol in hand. The bulletproof windows prevented me from shooting him, but Matt Garrett intercepted him before he reached Mahegan.
Were these the equivalent of suicide bombers sent by Blanc to kill me, my children, and my team so he could own Phalanx outright and not have any threat to his empire? As all cowards do, they have others fight for them. Where were Blanc and Drewson? Why wouldn’t they square off with me? What was Drewson’s incentive from Blanc for helping kill me and my family? A promise to own a piece of Phalanx?
As we approached the tunnel’s exit, two helicopters hovered in the distance. Rockets smoked toward us. Mahegan slammed on the brakes and fishtailed. Van Dreeves did the same. The mouth to the tunnel lit up like fireworks. Some of the rockets skipped on the pavement and ricocheted the full length out the south end. Boulders tumbled down to our front, blocking our exit.
Vehicles approached from the south. There was no escape.
“Dismount now,” I directed over my throat microphone.
With the vehicles stopped, I led my children and Blair from the Defender. Brad and Reagan were in shock, speechless, doing exactly as told. Reagan held Misha close to her. Blair scanned with her pistol. I lifted Amanda Garrett from the back of the Defender. Calles was still in the back.
“I’m okay, General,” she said.
“You’re bleeding.”
“He missed the big stuff,” she said. “Plus, I blew two of their heads off.”
That was good enough for me.
Zion Black, Patch Owens, and Sergeant Calles moved under their own power and grabbed weapons from our attackers. Even JD assumed a defensive position from the lead SUV. We joined Mahegan’s team to the front. The Defenders formed a “V” and we gathered in the protective space in between. Brad, Reagan, and Misha in the middle. Machine-gun fire raked the bulletproof vehicles. Rockets exploded all around us.
We held our fire, unclear on the intent of the approaching vehicles or who was in them.
“Daddy,” Reagan whispered. I felt her tugging at my back.
“Yes, baby,” I said, eyes focused on the approaching vehicles.
“I think I’m hurt.”
I snapped my head around and saw her holding her rib cage, blood oozing between her fingers.
This was not happening. Not my child.
I pulled up her shirt and saw a knife wound. The sweep had missed Misha but caught Reagan.
“Amanda?” I asked. “Can you take a look here?”
Doctor Amanda Garrett limped over to Reagan as she finished bandaging herself. She carried a small olive rucksack with a faint black cross on it. Bullets and rockets rained around us. I felt myself escape to a place I had never been. My mind disassociated from reality. I let out a primordial scream as headlights slammed into our SUV formation.
Then all hell broke loose as the mouth of the cave collapsed.
29
I KNELT NEXT TO my bleeding daughter. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her hair was matted against her forehead. She looked innocent and afraid.
“Am I going to die, Daddy?” she asked me.
“No, baby, you’re going to be fine,” I said. But I had no idea what the truth was. Amanda Garrett was moving her hands faster than a Vegas magician, ripping clothes, pressing ribs, sewing skin, clenching scissors in her teeth, all while she was severely wounded.
The one blessing of the collapsing tunnel was that the helicopter rocket fire no longer chewed at our meager defensive position, offering us minor respite. That sliver of fortune was entirely dwarfed by Reagan’s predicament.
Amanda looked up at me with worried eyes.
“We need to get her somewhere fast, or we need to get her some blood. What’s her blood type?”
“She’s AB and so am I,” Blair said.
“Okay, roll up your sleeve. I need to do this fast,” Amanda said.
They went to work. I held Reagan’s hand.
“I’m scared, Daddy. I don’t want to die. Not yet, anyway.”
“You’re going to be fine, baby girl.”
My insides were coming apart. I couldn’t lose Reagan. I would stand in front of a hail of bullets to stop anyone from harming my children. Blanc and Drewson had teamed up to kill me and my kids.
“Two pints, three, okay. That’s enough.”
She checked the wound and hooked up an IV bag.
“I think I’ve got it. Blair, you’re going to be lightheaded for a bit. Drink some Coke or something if we’ve got any. General, we need to get her stable. Any disruption can reopen the wound.”
“Roger that.”
“Hurts, Daddy,” Reagan said.
I could tell she was both in shock and frightened. She used “Daddy” only when she reverted to the deep emotional bond that we held for each other. Otherwise, it was usually “Dad” or “hey you.”
Mahegan, Hobart, and Van Dreeves came from the wreckage with Maximillian and two of the apparently actual Sharpstone employees. Maximillian was scarred and bleeding from his scalp.
“Blanc gave us traitors,” Maximillian said.
I leveled my pistol at Maximillian. “Tell me something that will stop me from killing you right now.”
“Oui. Je comprend.”
He held up his right hand and showed me his inner wrist. Beneath the blood and scarring was a rhombus-shaped tattoo.
“In his later years, I was Coop’s bodyguard. Why do you think I’ve been hanging around as old as I am. I have one job and that is to see that you get Phalanx. He made me promise.”
“I don’t have time to not trust you,” I said.
“Your daughter?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, looking at a pale, weak-eyed Reagan. Brad was sitting close to her, holding her hand. They loved each other and had endured too many deployments together. While I had missed much of their childhood to serve our country, I knew that they had supported each other during my absence and their mother’s illness. A famous Cherokee saying is that our life is but the mist of a buffalo’s breath. Short and insignificant, evaporating quickly into the ether. But that one life was what we were offered, and I was defending it for my children and myself with everything I had. My children deserved the fullest lives I could provide for them.
My first task was to get Reagan to safety. Next was to kill Blanc and Drewson.
“Boss,” Mahegan said. “Randy found explosives daisy-chained along the tunnel. I don’t think we have much time. This was a baited ambush right at the edge of Drewson’s property. Only way out is by land. If there is a way out.”
Hobart shouted, “Got something!” I looked over and he had scaled the wall on the opposite side of the tunnel. We were in the northbound lane, and he had crossed into the southbound lane, ascending a small concrete staircase with a door.
“Let’s go, team. Everybody grab a Dagger buddy and follow Joe Hobart. Jake, you take Misha. Randy, Amanda, and I will carry Reagan.”
“Got a hammock right here, boss,” Van Dreeves said. He laid a rectangular sleeping pad inside a mesh hammock and created a makeshift litter.
“Blair,” Amanda said. “Come with us in case we need more blood.”
“I’m with you,” Blair said.
“My blood is AB, too,” Calles said. “In case you need more.”
“Stay close,” I replied.
My team began moving out toward Hobart. Jake Mahegan was carrying Misha in his arms, cradling her gently with her face stuffed in his chest. Her thin arms were bundled up, hands clasped as if in prayer. Seeing Reagan wounded and the trauma from the attack in the back seat had fully overloaded Misha’s senses.
Luckily, so far, Reagan was still lucid. Amanda held an IV bag above her as Van Dreeves and I carried her in the hammock, doing our best to not disturb Amanda’s field-expedient suture work. Matt Garrett corralled JD, Maximillian and the other legit Sharpstone commandos, leading them along Hobart’s path. Jeremy West pulled together Patch Owens, Zion Black, and Sergeant Calles, who had effortlessly meshed with the team. Maybe she would have made a good Ranger, after all.
We moved single file through the door that Hobart had wrenched open. It led to a musty concrete staircase. At the top of the steps, Hobart pushed open a metal plate hatch and began helping everyone up onto the rocky slope of the tunnel exterior.
We maneuvered Reagan’s medical litter through the gap, everyone carefully passing her along as Amanda held the IV bag high and Blair remained close by. The cold wind blasting us in the face diminished as we descended into a rocky crevice to the side of the tunnel. We had everyone leave their phones and communications devices at the hatch with West.
As West was pulling Owens and Black through the hatch, the first of the explosions began. Loud and thunderous, the detonation cratered the south end of the tunnel. Once Black was out, West tossed the lot of the communications devices, save his own unused burner phone, into the tunnel, slammed the hatch shut, and slid a piece of rebar through the locking mechanism.
The remainder of the explosives detonated in rapid succession, causing the entire tunnel to fall in on itself. I imagined that the vehicles inside were crushed and the bodies of the Sharpstone traitors we had killed were entombed.
We snaked our way through a cavernous overhang that led through the opposite side of the ridge. We trudged along the frozen shale beneath the protective cover, shielded from view of Drewson’s and Blanc’s joint drone efforts to confirm the success of their mission. With that thought in mind, I told West what I wanted him to do, and he nodded.
Holding Reagan’s hand, I gripped her tight and said, “We’re going to be okay, baby girl.”
“I know, Daddy. Thank you.”
Beneath us was a valley with a road cutting through it. West came back alongside me and said, “That’s Route 28. My guys have taken off from Jackson in an unmarked STOL that can land on the road. Link-up is in about two miles. Can Reagan make it?” STOL was military parlance for “short takeoff and landing.” Most likely it was a Casa or Sherpa turboprop that could carry up to twenty personnel.
“I can make it,” Reagan said.
My heart was bursting with fear and pride, but I didn’t want to get ahead of ourselves.
“Can they have a medical team on board for Reagan and the others? My guys? The Sharpstone guys?”
“From what I understand, we’re all your guys. But yes, I’ve already told them to bring all the docs and class-eight equipment they need.” Class eight was the military logistics designation for medical supplies.
“Roger that,” I said.
Once we emerged from the rocky overhang, we stayed low in a wadi. We had traveled maybe two miles and had about two hundred meters of open terrain to traverse before reaching the link-up point. The propellers from the STOL buzzed lightly as it cut through the quiet night air in the valley west of Drewson’s compound.
