Camp chaos, p.31
Camp Chaos, page 31
part #1 of The Unit Series
“I believe the operation was a success,” Doc Wright observed.
“I believe you are correct, Doctor,” Doc Rich said. “I also believe that both of you owe me a dance.”
22
Hank and Amigo were setting up their gear at the firing line on Quantico’s long-distance rifle range. Downrange, they could make out Luigi’s black SUV and Luigi himself setting targets.
As Hank set up her own gear, she occasionally glanced at Amigo as he set up his. He doesn’t need my help. Even though this would be their first time operating as a sniper/spotter team, she already felt a sense of oneness with him.
While they waited for Luigi to return from downrange, Hank asked, “So how is it the Border Patrol has snipers?”
Amigo laughed. “It’s largely because drug runners have snipers. They like to shoot at us, so we like to shoot back. There’s a regular war going on down on the border that most Americans have no idea about. They shoot at us, throw rocks at us... And I’m not talking little rocks. Here we are, for the most part just one or two guys in a vehicle, with a whole group of illegals pelting us with everything imaginable. How ‘bout you? How’d you get into sniping?”
She laughed. “It was a personal hobby on steroids. I was assigned to the FBI’s Albuquerque office and would go up to a range north of there to shoot a target they’ve got set out at a little over a thousand meters. After a while, it got a little too easy, so one day I walked up the hill and put a standard metal torso target up so I could practice on it.”
“The white buffalo. I know that range. But I’ve never seen an Ivan up there.”
“I didn’t make it an easy target. It’s painted in camouflage paint, so unless you’re good at finding inconsistencies you’d probably never know it’s there.
“Let’s see if you’re good at seeing inconsistencies here,” Hank added as Luigi returned to the firing point. “Today will be easy work. I just want you to tell me where my round hits. We’ll start with the five-hundred-yard target, and then Luigi has set up a little challenge for me.”
“Ok, five-hundred-yard target,” Amigo said, getting his spotting scope focused in. “I’m ready any time you are.”
Hank adjusted the scope on the Sako and let herself settle onto the rifle. Her breath slowed, she could distinctly feel her heartbeat and see the rifle twitch with each contraction. Time seemed measured in clicks her heartbeat defined. When she was satisfied with what she was seeing, she murmured, “Sending,” and let her finger press smoothly on the sensitive trigger.
Watching through his spotting scope, Amigo watched the round sail down to the target. “Hit. You’re about two inches left of center.” He pulled out a ballistics card and suggested a correction to her scope settings.
“Thank you, Amigo,” she murmured. “And now, if you can find my thousand-yard target.”
“The gong?”
“No, this,” she said, reaching over and putting an individual serving can of peas in front of him.
“Green peas, coming up.” He searched the area around the thousand-yard gong. “Your peas are served. About five feet left of the lower left corner of the gong, sitting on the ground.” He ran his finger along the upper edge of the can of peas next to him. “You should be able to see the silver rim of the can.”
She adjusted rifle and scope and hunted where he described the can to be positioned. “I have peas, captain,” she muttered. “One thousand yards off the bow.” Once again, she waited to settle, then whispered, “Sending.”
“Hit,” Amigo reported as a spray of fluid became visible downrange. “You hit it a little low, I think. It jumped a little when you hit it.”
“Luigi, would you go down and collect our trash?”
“Sure thing, Sweetheart.”
As Luigi took the SUV back downrange, Hank turned to Amigo and said, “You know, the guy you replaced couldn’t even tell me where the can was. I could see it, but he swore there wasn’t a can down there right up until I hit it.”
“I heard that guy didn’t last long. What happened to him?”
“He committed a crime and was found guilty by tribunal.”
“Shit. What did he do?”
“Assault with intent to commit rape,” Hank said unemotionally.
“You?”
“Yes, me. Not the most endearing quality for someone who’s supposed to be teamed with me in a sniper team.”
Amigo shook his head. “That’s fucking warped. You said ‘intent to commit rape,’ so I gather he didn’t succeed.”
“It would have been hard for him to do so after I kicked him in the balls with a duty boot.” She looked at him with a resolved look. “I extracted a couple of teeth with that same boot after I got him restrained, too. He was still fighting. He was having other ideas.” She pulled the zip ties she always carried out of a cargo pocket and held them up. “Don’t leave home without them,” she said.
“So, I gather he’s in Leavenworth for the long course.”
“Unfortunately, no. He escaped during transfer from the unit facility to the airstrip. Killed the guy guarding him in the transport van, tasered another one, and ran off into the woods. He apparently managed to get off base before the copters could pick him up on FLIR. So now he has pending charges of assault, murder, and escape on top of the original assault conviction. It’s likely if they catch him he’ll get the death penalty.”
“That whole thing is just fucked up,” Amigo said. “Eso esta jodido.”
“Si, Amigo. But I just put it out of my mind. He’s not here, and right now I feel that I’m surrounded by friends. So now I can concentrate on the mission and get on with the things I came here to do.”
“You’ve got a good man to take care of you as well.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Yes, I do. I thought when I first got here that it was the best assignment I could have gotten, after the initial shock when I thought they were actually going to kill me.”
Amigo laughed. “I had about the same reaction. They told me I was going to die in five days, and I said, ‘You’re shitting me, right?’”
Hank laughed. Growing serious, she said, “I think I was attracted to Spud from the minute I met him on the plane. It was a seed I couldn’t keep from growing. The rule used to be ‘hands off, period.’ Those other guys in the team? They insisted it be changed so Spud and I could be together. And you got to see the result.”
“You know, I’ve got to apologize for that little... interruption the day of your wedding. I should have figured that the guys were setting me up when they sent me down there.”
“Spud and I figured that’s what happened. What we haven’t figured out yet was exactly how they knew we weren’t actually making love at the time.”
“Cloud. He was listening.”
“How?”
“Through the wall in the lab. He took a glass and had it against the wall so he could hear what was going on in Spud’s quarters.”
“Oh, really!” Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Amigo, I’ll make you a promise right now that we’ll get back at him.”
“Uhhh... I realize this is going to be a really personal question, but is Spud really?” He held out his hands.
Hank laughed. “Spud figured we’d get a visitor, and I suspect you’ve seen Doc Andy’s special drawer. He had a big dildo down his boxers.” She got an appreciative look and added, “Spud’s actually... bigger when the mood hits him,” making Amigo turn red. Did I just hear her right?
“I can’t believe you just told me that.”
Hank just shrugged. “It’s not why I love him,” she said. “But it’s certainly fine gravy. Spud is strong, but gentle. He doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile or inferior. He’s passionate. He feels very deeply, even though he seems to be all business, especially when he gets that serious game face of his on.” She looked at Amigo and concluded, “He treats me like his compliment. Our souls are intertwined. That’s why I love him.”
Luigi was walking up to them. He tossed her the remains of the can. “So, did he call it?”
Hank looked at the can. “He said I hit it a little low. Did you put the can out there upright?”
“The pull tab was up,” Luigi affirmed.
“Then you called it, Amigo.” She set the can in front of him. The entry hole was about an inch below the center of the can. “Good spotting and good call on scope settings.” She turned to Luigi. “Let’s keep him, Luigi. Get him into the shop and start getting his guns ready.”
Voice sat reading the Classifieds as the other team members finished up breakfast. They were watching the monitor in the cafeteria. On it was a video of a man who was increasingly in the news. A microphone held to him, the man said, “The increasing number of hate crimes and acts of terrorism are tearing at the very fabric of our society. Our system of government continues to fail to effectively end the divides that plague our nation. We need change.”
“Roger Sesogo,” Spud said. “He’s gaining a growing following.”
“Yeah, but he’s a bit of a nut,” Edge said.
Voice sat up, and taking the pencil ubiquitously in his pocket, started to decode an ad.
“Got something?” Hank asked.
“Let me finish” Voice said.
Voice now had everyone’s attention.
“Message reads: ‘FBI requests assistance. Gunny will arrive tomorrow 0800.’ For our newbies, dress for receiving a gunny is Service Cs.”
Having drawn the black ball, Edge stood waiting near the entrance to the BEQ. A car drove up and parked, and a man dressed in Service Cs with gunnery sergeant rank got out.
“Welcome to the unit,” Edge said, extending his hand. “You’re not our usual gunny.”
“He’s been reassigned to a higher position, so I got the role,” the man said.
“Please follow me. The team is waiting for you in the library.”
Edge walked up to the sliding panel that hid the entrance to the unit’s underground facility, revealing the staircase that led below.
“I was told I’d be seeing some unusual things,” the new gunny said.
“All things that help us operate efficiently and effectively, sir,” Edge said, leading the way down the stairs. He led his charge through the corridors and made the turn into Honor Way.
“The entire facility is underground?”
“Silence, please, sir,” Edge said quietly, leading him to the library at the end of the corridor. Turning in, he told the man, “You may have missed the sign as we came into the corridor we just passed through. The area that was to your right along it is where our fallen are inurned. Out of respect for them, we never speak while within that corridor except to pray or to share a remembrance.”
The rest of the team was already gathered. Seeing who had entered, Hank lowered her head. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered to Spud. “I know this guy.”
Spud looked at her. “It’s not a problem, Hank. He’s sworn to secrecy like the rest of us.”
She raised her head back up as Edge went around the room making the introductions.
“...Amigo is our newest member of the team,” Edge was saying as he went around the table. “Hank joined not long before he did, and last but not least, Spud has been on the team the longest.”
The man stared at Hank. “Hanko? Katheryn Hanko?”
“It’s Hank now. Hi, Stan.”
“You two know each other?” Cloud asked.
“Stan headed the Albuquerque field office while I was assigned there.”
“I can’t believe it’s you,” Stan said. “They told us you died in a training accident. We buried you, for God’s sake.”
Hank smiled. “Thank you for all the nice things you said at the funeral. How did John like the guns I left him?”
“They delivered them to the office. He was pretty choked up.” Stan shook his head. “I guess when HQ said they needed you for a special assignment, they weren’t kidding. I understand this is the nation’s most elite law enforcement unit.”
“That’s what they tell us.” Hank examined her fingernails. “So, what have you got for us, Stan?”
“We have a perplexing set of cases. These cases have occurred all around the country, and have been gradually escalating in frequency and severity. Killings of individuals, arsons of various locations, etc. We haven’t been able to find a common denominator.
“At first, we didn’t see a connection between the individual cases, until after one case a positive ballistics match was made between a round used for the killing of a Planned Parenthood doctor in Oregon and a Jewish rabbi in Indiana. Closer examination of the evidence found in cases revealed clusters of evidence that matched other cases around the country. In some cases, there were ballistics matches, in others a similarity of method such as an identical accelerant used in several arsons, or residue from bombings that indicated the same lot of fertilizer was used to make the anfo. From the evidence clusters we’re seeing, it appears that there are at least five people involved, but we believe the group may be much larger.
“We have no idea how the individuals are connected. No idea how they obtain their resources. No idea if they have any sort of base of operations. We’re not even certain the incidents are connected, except for within each individual cluster. But the similarity of purpose leads us to believe we’re dealing with a group of alt right domestic terrorists.”
“Neo-nazis? Skin heads?” Spud asked.
“Possibly, but this appears to be much more organized than you typically find with that kind of group.”
“Has the NSA been able to pick up any chatter that might point out how the group is moving or picking its targets?” Voice asked.
“Nothing. With as dispersed as the incidents are, you’d expect some kind of electronic communication, but none of the usual filters are revealing anything.”
“So, what does the FBI see as our mission?” Hank asked.
“We need to know first, are the cases connected? Second, if so, does the group have a base of operations? Third, exactly how many people are involved? And fourth, how can we apprehend all of the group’s members?”
“Sounds like the first group that needs to tackle this are our intel people. That would be me, Hank, Amigo, and Edge,” Spud said. “We’ll be in-house for a while, seeing if Hal can ferret out any kind of pattern or integrate any other cases that might have occurred over the time frame during which the incidents you currently are looking at have occurred. Once we have a good picture, we’ll be able to hash out the other mission aspects.”
“Very good. On behalf of the Director, we appreciate your help and will be looking for any information you can pass us. Hanko,” he added, “nice to see you’re still among us.”
“Just keep in mind, Stan, that Katheryn Hanko is dead. And I don’t exist.”
Spud, Hank, Amigo and Edge gathered in the library to work on the initial framework for the mission while the remainder of the team concentrated on potential duties they might encounter, with Cloud and Crow determining possible scenarios involving aircraft and Voice considering programming that might need to be done to Hal to accommodate the mission’s needs.
“You didn’t get much of a reprieve, Amigo, before having to jump into a mission head first,” Hank observed.
“Just means I have to work a little harder.”
“I like your attitude.”
“Ok, Spud said. “The first thing we have to do is try to think like these terrorists. And toward that end, we have here the case files from our FBI gunny that they believe are connected.”
The four looked at four file boxes of printed documents.
This is going to be one helluva task, Hank thought. “Thoughts on how these can be sorted?”
“An obvious one would be by method,” Edge said. “Firearm versus bomb versus arson, etc.”
“Another would be by person or organization targeted,” Hank said. “Religious versus political versus some other ideology. That could help us identify future targets.”
Edge added, “We might also want to get Voice in on some of this. I think it’s probably a given that there are other cases that didn’t make their way into these files.” He scratched his chin. “Looking at what’s here might give us some clues as to what sorts of victims we might want to include in the list.”
“And we want time frame,” Spud said. “If we assume a few things, then we come to some conclusions on that. First assumption is that the group has an ideological leader or leaders. Second, that the group organized and became actively engaged in terrorist activities at a particular point in time, meaning we won’t have to look back earlier than a certain date.”
“We might want to consider, also, that the people involved aren’t domestic. Remember the 9/11 terrorists weren’t U.S. citizens, but foreigners,” Hank reminded. “How did the Bureau arrange what’s in the boxes?”
“Date,” Spud replied.
“Great.” She didn’t say it in a complimentary way. “Did they do any kind of indexing for the cases they believe are linked?”
“There’s a file here that references which cases they think belong together and what that’s based on.”
“Probably step one should be for us to sort the files according to the way the Bureau thought they were connected. Then if we each take one of the clusters, maybe we can find some commonality that links all the cases. That might give us a better idea of what we might be looking for,” Hank said.
The group set about pulling the files that the FBI’s list said should be grouped, placing them in piles. It was more of a tedious task than a daunting one, given the Bureau had already identified a number of clusters, all grouped according to method: firearm, bomb, arson. They sat back when finished and looked at the piles, two for shootings and one each for bombings and arsons.
Hank slid a pile in front of her. “These are all shootings.” She grabbed the first file from the top of the pile she’d chosen. “This case involves the shooting of a black businessman in Norcross, Georgia.” She opened up the next file. “This one is the shooting of a Jewish rabbi in Fort Lee, New Jersey.” Pulling the next, she read, “A white lawyer from Valparaiso, Indiana.” Continuing to open files, “A Hispanic restaurant owner in Amsterdam, New York. A Jewish rabbi in Yorktown Heights, New York.” She scratched her cheek. “If it weren’t for the white guy, I’d say we’re looking at non-white and non-Christian victims. The white guy is the odd guy out.”
