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newsletter, looking for volunteers for a special, secret mission. We responded. I don’t know why we got picked.”
Lake wanted to rub his forehead. He’d hoped that the orders had come from the Patriot organization in California. But he believed what Preston was saying and not simply because he was holding a gun on him. The Patriot movement was very fragmented and paranoid. There was no overall leadership and each group did its own thing. If there was one thing that held it together, it was the Internet. At least he could try to follow this lead on the Internet website where the Patriot filth piled up and fermented.
“What happens below?” Seeing the confusion in Preston’s wide eyes. Lake amplified the question. “After we jump. What happens?”
“Boat picks us up. It’s supposed to be waiting. That’s what Starry said. I don’t know nothing else, man.” Preston blinked. “Why’d—-”
He never finished, as Lake squeezed the trigger. He’d fine-tuned the trigger tension. He’d had nothing else to do for the past couple of days and it didn’t take much work.
The top of Preston’s head mingled with the gore inside and the body flopped back. Lake threw the legs up and tossed the AR-15 on top of the two bodies, then wedged the doors almost all the way shut. His static line kept them from latching.
He then pressed a button on the side of his watch, checked to make sure the pager had activated, then he stepped over the railway onto the walk. He reached inside his shirt, ensuring the High Standard silenced .22 was secured in the shoulder holster, then crossed the walk. He made sure his static line was clear as he stepped up on the outer railing, balancing himself with one hand on a steel cable. The water below was a sheet of black. There was a stiff breeze in his face, something he knew that Starry’s plan had called for to carry the contents of the glass jar toward the city.
Lake paused as tires squealed and two blue vans with dark tinted windows screeched to a halt, one behind, one in front of the parked van. Men in black combat gear flowed out of the vehicles, weapons at the ready, the red dots of their laser sights flickering over the scene, a pair fixing on Lake’s head.
Lake kept his grip on the cable and his other hand away from his side. “I’m Lake. Two bodies inside,” he called out. “Their getaway boat is below. I’m going down to take it out.”
A thin old man dressed in a long black raincoat stepped forward. “Lake, hold on—”
Lake pointed with his free hand. “I think they have bio-agents in the glass jar in the sprayer inside, so don’t break it, Feliks. I’ll meet you at the Coast Guard station on the south shore.”
“Lake!” Feliks’ voice threatened. “Take backup.”
“They’ll just get in the way.” Lake threw himself out into space, then immediately tucked into a tight body position as he’d been taught on the thirty-four foot towers at Fort Benning what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Lake counted, knowing it would take longer because he didn’t have the added speed of an airplane to get to the end of the static line. One thousand, two thousand. At five thousand he felt a tug, then a jerk as the chute blossomed open. Just in time as he hit the water three seconds later, still pulling the quick release he had put into the waist belt.
The shock of the cold water caused Lake to gasp, expelling what little air he had in his lungs. He didn’t panic even though he was completely submerged. He’d been in this situation in the past and he calmly felt for the small knobs for the water wings. Locating them, he pulled and they inflated, popping him to the surface. The chute settled down into the water off to the side and Lake struggled with the chest release, then each leg release.
Lake kicked to get away from the chute and was promptly entangled in the web of parachute line. He immediately stopped kicking. Drawing a knife from inside his left boot he carefully
Lake wanted to rub his forehead. He’d hoped that the orders had come from the Patriot organization in California. But he believed what Preston was saying and not simply because he was holding a gun on him. The Patriot movement was very fragmented and paranoid. There was no overall leadership and each group did its own thing. If there was one thing that held it together, it was the Internet. At least he could try to follow this lead on the Internet website where the Patriot filth piled up and fermented.
“What happens below?” Seeing the confusion in Preston’s wide eyes. Lake amplified the question. “After we jump. What happens?”
“Boat picks us up. It’s supposed to be waiting. That’s what Starry said. I don’t know nothing else, man.” Preston blinked. “Why’d—-”
He never finished, as Lake squeezed the trigger. He’d fine-tuned the trigger tension. He’d had nothing else to do for the past couple of days and it didn’t take much work.
The top of Preston’s head mingled with the gore inside and the body flopped back. Lake threw the legs up and tossed the AR-15 on top of the two bodies, then wedged the doors almost all the way shut. His static line kept them from latching.
He then pressed a button on the side of his watch, checked to make sure the pager had activated, then he stepped over the railway onto the walk. He reached inside his shirt, ensuring the High Standard silenced .22 was secured in the shoulder holster, then crossed the walk. He made sure his static line was clear as he stepped up on the outer railing, balancing himself with one hand on a steel cable. The water below was a sheet of black. There was a stiff breeze in his face, something he knew that Starry’s plan had called for to carry the contents of the glass jar toward the city.
Lake paused as tires squealed and two blue vans with dark tinted windows screeched to a halt, one behind, one in front of the parked van. Men in black combat gear flowed out of the vehicles, weapons at the ready, the red dots of their laser sights flickering over the scene, a pair fixing on Lake’s head.
Lake kept his grip on the cable and his other hand away from his side. “I’m Lake. Two bodies inside,” he called out. “Their getaway boat is below. I’m going down to take it out.”
A thin old man dressed in a long black raincoat stepped forward. “Lake, hold on—”
Lake pointed with his free hand. “I think they have bio-agents in the glass jar in the sprayer inside, so don’t break it, Feliks. I’ll meet you at the Coast Guard station on the south shore.”
“Lake!” Feliks’ voice threatened. “Take backup.”
“They’ll just get in the way.” Lake threw himself out into space, then immediately tucked into a tight body position as he’d been taught on the thirty-four foot towers at Fort Benning what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Lake counted, knowing it would take longer because he didn’t have the added speed of an airplane to get to the end of the static line. One thousand, two thousand. At five thousand he felt a tug, then a jerk as the chute blossomed open. Just in time as he hit the water three seconds later, still pulling the quick release he had put into the waist belt.
The shock of the cold water caused Lake to gasp, expelling what little air he had in his lungs. He didn’t panic even though he was completely submerged. He’d been in this situation in the past and he calmly felt for the small knobs for the water wings. Locating them, he pulled and they inflated, popping him to the surface. The chute settled down into the water off to the side and Lake struggled with the chest release, then each leg release.
Lake kicked to get away from the chute and was promptly entangled in the web of parachute line. He immediately stopped kicking. Drawing a knife from inside his left boot he carefully
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