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Chapter Fifteen

In the bed in the dark room, Mark Eisele painfully turned over to his right side. The restraints made it difficult, but he was able to press his weight into the old mattress firmly enough to get some slack in the nylon straps. The wound in his left butt cheek throbbed from lying on it, and it was a true relief when he was able to complete the half turn. The problem was, when he did so, the wound on his right shoulder screamed at him until he was able to adjust his upper body slightly.

It was good to know that there was a little more slack in the straps then there had been at first. Apparently, they’d stretched out a little. He doubted he could wriggle out of them like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, but the idea gave him a shot of hope.

The band of light under the boarded-up window was pale orange, meaning dusk was approaching. It also meant that he’d been in his medically induced coma since very early that morning, when Double-A had delivered the shot.

As Eisele slowed his breathing and relaxed his muscles to further ease the pain, he recalled what he had witnessed in a fog that morning. Two men in combat fatigues had entered the room with headlamps on and unfurled a thick plastic body bag on the floor next to his bed. One of them had asked the other, “Where we gonna take him, anyway?”

“Axel said the old meat cellar.”

“Ah.”

Through hooded eyes, Eisele had watched the two men lift Spike Rankin’s body from his bed and lower it into the open body bag. They’d done so with ease, and Eisele had gotten a glimpse of Rankin’s thin white arm hanging under him like the tail of a comma. Then one of them bent over the body bag and zipped it up.

Eisele recognized the two men from his first encounter with them on the rim of Battle Mountain. They’d been with Double-A.

—

Although he had every reason to doubt the veracity of his memories at the moment, he thought he recalled overhearing several conversations through the door from the room next to his. Through his narcotic stupor, at different times during the day, he’d been slightly awakened as people gathered in groups for chitchat and discussions. The subject matter had varied depending on who was out there.

One group of both men and women had complained about the exercises they’d been doing outside. A woman said that if she heard “Fire, move, fire, move” or “Aim like it’s a pumpkin on a post” one more time, she’d lose her mind. They discussed the weaponry they’d been using, and a man had quietly explained how to switch his weapon from semi- to full-auto. Then the voices had faded, or Eisele had slipped back into unconsciousness.

Another, smaller group talked about the building they were in as once being called the Summit Hotel. Apparently, Eisele was in a room off the old lobby area. He’d heard someone start to ascend some stairs and another call out to be careful because some of the steps were rotten.

There was talk among a few men about how they had eyes on and inside the ranch. That the operation was getting close. Eisele heard the words “tomorrow night.”

None of it made a lot of sense to him, but he discerned that the number of people coming into and out of the Summit Hotel lobby numbered around twelve to fifteen. There could be more outside, or in other structures, of course. Either way, it seemed like a lot of people for this operation, whatever it was. He also guessed that the people he’d heard talking belonged to distinct groups. The mixed-sex group sounded younger, and they were very talkative. The woman who’d complained about the repetitive commands uptalked in a way that made every statement sound like a question. Were they college-age?

The others were men only, and in groups of three or four at most. They spoke in low tones and came off as businesslike and serious.

Although Eisele came to no firm conclusions, he thought that the information he’d overheard could be important if he got out of there. If he could escape this chrysalis, the first thing he’d do is warn the governor.

And then ream him up one side and down the other for getting him into this situation in the first place.

—

When a key turned in the door, Eisele feigned sleep. Someone entered, and he recognized the footfalls and breathing as belonging to Double-A.

He stayed still as she gently pushed him to his back again, and he felt a tightening of his upper restraint as she pulled it tight. No more rolling over for him, he thought.

He felt her warm fingers as she pulled back his shirt to examine the shoulder dressing, then tugging gently at the waist of his loose scrubs to look at the other wound. She did both moves carefully, and he felt a wave of unexpected affection. He had no idea, until that moment, how much the touch of a woman could mean to him. She probably didn’t care anything about him, but it meant everything to him at the moment.

Did she know what he was feeling? he wondered. Did she know he was faking sleep?

He wanted to show her he was awake and lucid, and ask her questions, but before he opened his eyes, the room filled with another, more malevolent presence. Axel Soledad was back.

Eisele didn’t move. He didn’t want to speak or do anything that might provoke Soledad. Spike Rankin’s display of weakness was likely what had led to his ruthless murder. Eisele didn’t want to do the same. In fact, he didn’t want Soledad to even notice him.

“What’s going on?” Soledad asked. His tone was sharp. “What are you doing here?”

Eisele felt the beam of the headlamp move from his face as Double-A turned to greet Soledad.

“I’m on a break,” she said. “It’s time to give him morphine, and then I have to get back.”

That seemed to placate Soledad, and his tone softened. “Is everything on track?”

“Yes. Everything is on track.”

“Is anyone suspicious?”

“Not that I can tell,” she said. “I got bumped up to senior server already, thanks to a woman named Peaches. I’ve been in the room and seen them all.”

“Those bastards,” Soledad said.

“It was so strange to see him in person,” Double-A said. “He was not more than two feet away. I took his order and served him a couple of drinks. He’s a scotch-and-soda guy. Shorter and older than he looks on television standing next to the president. Also cruder. He tried to flirt with me, even though he’s here with his wife.”

“I figured he was an asshole,” Soledad said. “No one could be that pious in real life.”

“I can confirm they’re all here, just like you said.”

“Of course they’re all here. These criminals wouldn’t miss this gathering for the world. Did the shipment arrive on time?”

“Yes. It’s secure.”

“So that’s what they make you wear?” Soledad chuckled. “They make you dress like a sexy little cowgirl?”

Eisele couldn’t help himself. He opened his eyes slightly, because he wanted to see her outfit. He’d only seen her in baggy fatigues before, but now she wore a skintight Western shirt tucked into tight blue jeans. It was worth the risk to look, he thought.

“Don’t waste too much of your time on him,” Soledad said dismissively while throwing a side-eye toward Eisele. “We might need those medical supplies later.”

“I don’t need to change his dressings at the moment,” she said. “He’s healing up nicely.”

“Great. We need him to be healthy and recovered when we put him in the meat locker next to his buddy.”

“I can’t just let him suffer,” Double-A said. Eisele suddenly loved her with all of his heart.

Soledad snorted a laugh. “I don’t care about that, as you know. Our mission here isn’t to nurse anyone back to health.”

“I know that, Axel.” This time, her tone was sharp. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not. I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

Eisele kept his eyes closed and his face passive when the light from her headlamp fell back on him. He got the feeling she was looking away from Soledad more than checking on his condition.

Soledad said, “I got the word that we might have a problem.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“A guy called Nate Romanowski is looking for me again,” Soledad said. “He’s with a big Black dude named Geronimo Jones. They’re both ex-operators and falconers. Romanowski could really be a problem.”

“I’ve heard you mention his name,” she said. She was still not fully reengaged with Soledad, Eisele thought. There was a rift between them he’d been unaware of until that moment. It was obvious Double-A didn’t like being addressed in the derisive manner Soledad had used at first.

“Yeah,” Soledad said. “If it wasn’t for the network of patriots out there I wouldn’t have the intel. It seems those two paid a visit on a weak man named Reese in Montana, who told them I tried to recruit him. I’ll deal with him as soon as this operation is over.

“And just today, they met with a lawyer I’ve had dealings with. They must have spooked her enough that she talked out of school. I’ll deal with her, too.”

“Are they getting close to us?” Double-A asked. There was alarm in her voice.

“I’d say they’re getting warmer,” Soledad said. “I sent a couple of our dipshit anarchists to take care of them this afternoon, outside of Laramie. I’d sent them there for supplies and redeployed them to intercept Romanowski and Jones.”

He paused. “It didn’t work out. Our dipshits got jumped. I don’t know if they did any damage before they were taken out, but as you know, those idiots are pure amateurs. It’s one thing to stage a student protest in the office of the dean, and another thing to intercept a couple of armed ex-operators. But they were all I had available. I wish you or a couple of your team had been there instead.”

“So where are Romanowski and Jones now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Thank God we’re hard to find here in Soledad City.”

“Axel,” Double-A said, “we can’t have them screwing this up. There are too many moving parts as it is.”

“I’m well aware of that. I planned this all in the first place, if you’ll recall.”

She went silent. Even without looking, Eisele could tell she was seething.

“But you don’t have to worry,” Soledad said, moving close to her and lowering his voice. Eisele imagined him putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got a plan B. I’ve always got a contingency plan.”

“Let’s hope it works,” Double-A said.

“Oh, it’ll work. If I need to, I’ll pull the trigger on it and Nate Romanowski will suddenly have much bigger things to worry about than me or us. I know how to rock his world to the core. I’ve done it before.”

“Does it involve innocent people?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Soledad assured her. “That’s my concern.”

Eisele heard Double-A breathe out a long sigh. Whatever Soledad’s contingency plan was, she didn’t want to know. Eisele did, though. He wanted to know as much as he could about these people and what was going on, in order to increase his odds to escape with his life.

What was the “operation” they were engaged in? Who were the anarchists and who was on Double-A’s team? Why was it so important that they’d kill Spike Rankin and stuff his body into a meat cellar? Or keep Eisele literally in the dark in a smoky old room in an abandoned hotel?

“I think I need to get back,” Double-A said to Soledad. “I don’t want anyone down there to miss me.”

“Give them my regards,” Soledad said. “And please don’t fret. Everything is falling into place just like we talked about. And you, my dear, are the key to it all.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But just so you know, I’m doing this for me. Not for you and your cause.”

“It’s all the same,” he said.

He felt the sheet being pulled up and tucked under his chin as Axel Soledad left the room. Then he felt her warmth as she leaned in over him and whispered into his ear.

“You’d better be sleeping,” she hissed. Then he heard the now-familiar sounds of her preparing the next dosage of morphine.

Within two minutes of her leaving the room, Eisele drifted back into darkness as Double-A started up her ATV outside the hotel.