They'll Call It Treason (24 page)

January 31 at 7:50
p.m.
EST

Winchester, VA

The bitter cold of the pounding sleet bit through Ethan's jacket. The winter moisture bled through his pants. It amazed him how quickly it penetrated through his thick layers.

The wind whipped around him unsympathetically. It burnt as it sliced across his face and threatened to wrench away his hood. He squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the sleet and keep his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him.

Arms wrapped tightly around his chest, Ethan moved as quickly down the sidewalk as the weather allowed. He was ready to get out of the brutal storm. But he was unsure if he was ready to face the storm that awaited him inside.

Despite the sting of the sleet, the absence of his Glock discomforted him most. He felt naked without it. The gun was his constant companion, day in and day out. Now, when he needed it most, he had to go without.

Instead, his survival hinged on Gray. Ethan trusted his friend with his life, but a sense of helplessness still moved through his veins. It nearly made him nauseous.

They had no idea how many men were in the warehouse waiting for them. One, two, ten. Maybe twenty. How well armed were they? How well trained were they? His questions outnumbered what he knew. They were truly going in blind.

Ahead he spied the warehouse. It appeared dark and menacing through the fog of snow and sleet. Not a light glowed around the complex and no light came from any of the facilities windows. Beyond a set of long barren maples, their branches shaking violently in the wind, the parking lot was barren.

In mere minutes, he thought, this horrible nightmare would all come to an end. He only hoped that end would be in their favor.

Without notice, the sight of Dante gasping for his last breath and Jason’s brown eyes pleading with him in his last moments sprung into Ethan’s mind. He turned his face trying to push the thoughts aside as a tear threatened to freeze on his cheek. Then he saw Abrams.

Immediately the guilt and torment turned to anger. It boiled inside. He let Abrams face form in his mind. Those cold pale blue eyes, the absolute lack of sympathy, the bitter callousness of a killer.

Ethan clenched his fist. He owed it to Jason, to Dante, to their families. There was so much at stake here.

There were so many ways to fail, and so few ways to succeed. Even if they got Kate out, if they could not extract the information they needed, the confession they needed, it would all be for naught. Without a confession they would just be a small band of terrorists, traitors. It may be considered an act of terrorism, maybe even treason, against their country.

They’ll call it treason.

He shivered at the thought. If that happened, he knew what would become of them. They would be tried and convicted of terrorism. Then each of them would be locked away for life in some foreign hell hole where the United States could bypass the inconvenience of upholding human rights. Ethan would rather die fighting than face such a fate. He would not be treated like an animal, tortured and left to a black cell for the rest of his life. All for doing what they had to, for playing the hand he was dealt by a cruel twist of fate.

Ethan slowed his pace as he stepped up a single stair to the platform leading to the front entrance. The building seemed no less gloomy up close, just less obscured by the weather. Its gray concrete walls and boarded up glass doors further enforced how much he did not know. He envisioned the doors opening and the fires of hell itself bursting out and pulling him in to its eternal damnation.

At least it’d be warmer
, he thought for a fleeting moment.

He stepped up to the door and reached out to pull on the handle. His heart pounded. Before his hand grasped the metal handle he pulled his hand back. He was not ready for this, but fate waited on no man. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

As he reached out again, the door moved outward before he reached it. Ethan stepped back, half expecting flames to flare out around him.

Instead, a tall man dressed in a black tactical uniform stepped into the opening. No insignia, no badge.
Definitely not FBI, must be private security
, Ethan thought.

Ethan was keenly aware of the man’s rifle as he waved it at him, directing Ethan to enter. His face was stern, but still difficult to see through the snow and sleet.

“Keep your hands up and out,” the man ordered. “Walk in slowly.”

Ethan raised his arms above his head and walked forward. He felt even more helpless than he had imagined. From behind the door another security guard appeared and patted him down.

The door shut behind him with a loud thud cutting him off from the cold. Trapping him. He shivered as the heat pushed its way back through his body.

The hallway was bare. Naked wood-paneled walls. White speckled laminate flooring that curled at the edges where water had seeped down the walls. Dark squares on the walls outlined where photos or plaques used to hang along the hall. Only a few of the dim lights mounted along the ceiling were working. Even those flickered without rhythm.

The second guard was shorter than the first, standing only three to four inches over the man’s shoulders. Yet, he looked solid, his form fitting black shirt rippled with muscle, as did the first guard's. His face was rugged and tough, a scar ran along his jaw line.

The guard continued to search Ethan’s pockets, getting a little too close for comfort to the transmitter in his jeans. Once the guard was sure Ethan was clean he nodded to the other guard.

“Turn around and give me your hands,” the second guard ordered, his voice an octave higher than Ethan expected from the stout figure before him.

Ethan obeyed, lowering his hands. Painfully the man wrenched Ethan’s arms behind him and pulled a set of zip-ties from his pocket. With little care, he fastened one around each of Ethan’s wrists and interlocked them together. The plastic seared Ethan’s wrists as they were tightened. He restrained his protest, grimacing.

“When will I see Abrams?” Ethan dared ask.

“Shut up, we’ll get you there when we’re ready,” the first guard blurted, already tired of his new keep.

The shorter guard spoke into his headset, “Sir, we have your guest. Making our way back now.”

Guest? I sure don’t feel like a guest.

Ethan’s stomach dropped. He knew who “sir” was.

The guard shoved an unwelcome object against Ethan’s lower back. One of the AR-15s that had been strapped around the guards when he entered the building. They definitely knew how to motivate compliance.

“Walk.”

Gray, be careful.

January 31 at 7:50
p.m.
EST

Winchester, VA

Hefty evergreens brimming with snow swayed in the late night gale. Barren limbs mummified in crystalline ice swayed and sagged low, shielding Gray from the brunt of the storm.

Still Gray squinted to keep the ice from crashing into his eyes. He pulled his jacket tighter, navigating north as best he could through the small patch of woods. The snow was at least a half foot deep and had been undisturbed until Gray entered the tree-line.

Gray shivered as he high-stepped through the snow. At least there was no need to tread quietly or obscure his tracks. The howl of the wind and cracking of branches muzzled his footsteps and even under the cover of tree branches the storm quickly stamped out any trace of his path.

Minutes ago Austin had dropped him off on the opposite side of this tiny suburban forest. Gray had reminded Austin to record everything before heading out. It had been unnecessary, but helped calm his addled nerves, as if the mere verbalizing of the idea would ensure a positive outcome.

Even if they did not make it out, Gray hoped the recording would reveal enough to clear their names. If they failed the responsibility of getting that information into the right hands would fall fully on Austin.

“Ethan’s about sixty yards away from the warehouse Gray,” Austin updated him over the headset. “You’ve got another hundred and fifteen yards until you reach the opposite edge of the tree-line, just north of your position.”

“Copy that,” Gray confirmed and quickened his pace. He intended to be in position before Ethan gave himself up to Abrams. Above, a branch cracked under the weight of the ice, crashing down in front of him. Gray caught the limb in the circle of his flashlight just in time and jumped to the side to miss it.

Ahead he saw the end of the small forest as he closed in on the man-made tree-line. He came to a stop at the edge and flicked off the flashlight, placing a hand on a nearby trunk to steady himself. He drew in a deep breath of stinging cold air and surveyed the area.

Uninhibited by a canopy of glassy branches and pine leaves the open expanse was inundated with heavy snow. White and grey sheets enveloped everything and the harsh snow charged winds made visibility a nightmare.

The map he had attempted to memorize before heading out had shown a road between the forest and warehouse beyond the tree-line. It was nowhere in sight, shrouded in snowdrift, but Gray was sure he was in the right place. About twenty yards out to his left he eyed a long rectangular object. Through the blizzard Gray spied the top half of a set of wheels jutting above the snow below the weight of a bulky trailer; an old semi-truck trailer.

He worked to get his bearings among the achromatic scene before him. If the trailer was on the dividing road, the warehouse should be about another ninety yards north.

For the first time, he thanked God for the blizzard and almost immediately repented for the lapse. Running the open space between the forest and warehouse would have been suicide on any other day. Yet tonight, the down pouring of sleet and snow gave Gray the advantage, even if his legs shivered against the wet lining of his layered jeans. It was doable.

Maybe someone is watching out for us.

“How close is Ethan?” Gray asked, tapping his earpiece.

“He’s about twenty yards from the front entrance,” Austin responded.

“Got it. I’m going to get a little closer, and settle in until he’s inside,” Gray informed Austin.

“Copy that,” Austin confirmed.

Gray stole a glance to his right, and then left, before exiting the tree-line. He sprinted across the opening toward the abandoned trailer. His feet were heavy as he fought to step lightly through the thick snowfall. Finally across, he crouched at the southern end of the trailer and breathed heavily. He placed a hand on his holstered pistol to reassure himself of its presence.

Around the corner the outline of three more trailers took form in the distance about sixty yards out. The wind slapped him in the face. Gray pushed off the trailer and ran as fast as his legs would take him through the deep snow. His breath whipped by his ears in quickly vanishing fogs, his legs burned from the unusual effort.

He kept his eyes darting from side to side, waiting for the building to come in to sight. Gray knew that once he had a visual of the warehouse they could see him. He would have to be more careful at that point on his approach.

Finally, he reached the set of trailers and let himself prop up against the edge of the metal box, pulling in a gulp of air and snow. He bent around the corner. A gust of snow and ice beat into his flesh sending a quick shiver down his spine. He squinted, peering through the snow. There it was, only another twenty yards out.

Through the blizzard Gray’s eyes made out the faint features of the warehouse. It was a large rectangular facility with no inherent attempt at pageantry. At least none he could tell in the whitewash. Gray squinted, attempting to see through the cutting sleet. Ahead sat the entrance, the old offloading bay where another semi-trailers was still hooked to a docking bay.

He breathed deeply, the dry air burnt as he gulped it in. Gray retrieved his pistol and made certain the silencer was secure. As he peered around the bend he wondered how many men where inside.

Are there any traps? How heavily armed are they? Can I reach Ethan and Kate soon enough?

So many things could go wrong, almost all of it beyond his control. He could be out-manned, out-gunned, or simply too short on time and there was no way to know until it was too late.

He took in another deep breath, watching the steam when he exhaled quickly vanish in the harsh wind.

“Gray,” Austin came on the line, his voice less enthusiastic than earlier. “Ethan just entered the building.”

Gray paused, let out a short puff of air, and replied, “I’m going in.”

January 31 at 8:01
p.m.
EST

Winchester, VA

Ethan watched the shorter guard carefully as he led the way down the hall. He had a diminutive limp, likely a vestige of some long past accident. It revealed itself only slightly each time his left foot met the ground. His right hand never left the rifle grip hanging in front of his chest and he kept his eyes straight forward. He appeared to have full confidence in his taller counterpart whose rifle muzzle awkwardly pressed against Ethan’s back. A constant reminder of who was in control.

It worked, pushing him forward with the occasional barking of a baritone voice. Both were professionals, their strides purposeful, watching, waiting for Ethan to make a move. That would not happen, he could not risk it. Not until he knew Kate was safe.

Dressed from neck to toe in unmarked black military-like suites and black boots, each held an AR-15 and a pistol holstered on their belts.

Definitely not FBI. But is it Cerberus?

He wanted to break free. It seemed natural to want to escape, but beyond all reason, being held captive was the goal now.

The hallway ahead was lit unevenly by a few florescent bulbs, at least the ones that seemed to work. Cold water from the winter storm outside dripped into small puddles on the floor through browning ceiling tiles. A musty odor complimented the dust covered walls.

“So it’s just you two out here?” Ethan spoke up trying to hold back the stutter in his voice. “Seems a bit lonely.”

The taller guard shoved the rifle harder into Ethan’s back. “We’ve got more than enough help to keep you in and your friends out. Now shut up and walk.”

The other guard finally looked back at Ethan in scorn and then returned his gaze forward. Ethan twisted, trying to ease the pain in his back. He had not got a number, but it was something. There were at least three of them counting Abrams.

That’s more than I knew a few minutes ago.

He willed Gray to be careful in his head, imagining men around dark corners waiting for him to enter. Gray could handle himself, but the unknown still tore at Ethan.