Road Trip

Part 3 - Lugar de Arcilla Blanca

Rachael wiped a spot of blood from her tender jaw where Shotgun’s ring cut her. The car sped away with a squeal of tires, leaving a cloud and smell of burnt rubber. Her hands shook, making it difficult to button her shirt.

“He’s gone,” she said in a soft, husky voice.

Seconds later Galen was speeding across the parking lot towards her. Light-headed, Rachael stumbled into the front seat and buckled herself. She sat kneading life back into her stiff, cold hands. Galen said nothing, staring grimly down the streets he drove. Rachael cast a glance back at SWAT women, both of whom sat with solemn expressions and eyes averted. She wondered what had been discussed in her absence, not that she cared.

Swaying in the deep cushioned seat, her head rocked back and forth in rhythm with the vehicle. Pain slowly faded, leaving a light sting as reminder, and she lapsed into a nightmarish state of semi-conscious exhaustion. Groggily, Rachael came to her senses when the car came to a stop. She followed Galen back inside the squat brick building, flanked by the two women.

“Come with me,” he ordered and led her to the conference room. A plate of fruit, protein bars, and bottles of iced drinks and water set in the table’s center. The two SWAT women continued directly to the armory to doff their guns and gear.

Rachael’s stomach grumbled and her mouth watered at the temptation the snacks presented, yet the thought of eating made her nauseous. She did drink two bottles of water while waiting. Eventually the SWAT and CIRG members filtered in, followed by special agents Galen and Booker.

Booker cast a hard look at Rachael. “Obviously, our civilian volunteer chose not to follow the script.”

Her face flushed.

“As we have all heard, she has thrown Operation Artemis into a royal cluster. Dammit, Rachael! All you had to do was obtain information! Why the hell didn’t you follow the script?”

“Your script stunk. The story was full of holes and would only lead to questions I couldn’t answer! If I didn’t believe it, he sure as hell wouldn’t!”

“We’ve been developing the girlfriend angle long before you showed up!”

“It didn’t occur to you that I should have been brought up to speed before throwing it in my lap and saying here it is?”

“That’s it,” he thundered, throwing a wicked glare around the room. “We’re calling this off.”

“Wonderful! Throw away these kids just like you did in Texas. Go on, blame the judges, blame me, blame your washed-up undercover agent, find any excuse you want. Just chalk it up as a setback and move on, is that right? You win some, you lose some, no big deal.”

“You obviously don’t know who I am, little lady...”

“Nor I don’t care! Whatever type of people you’re used to dealing with, I am most certainly not one of them!”

“Out!” He demanded, stabbing his finger at the door.

A silent, uncomfortable tension filled the room of people clearly not accustomed to seeing him challenged in such a manner. Rachael furiously unbraided her hair and raked the wire from it, threw it on the table.

“Fine!”

“Wait. Listen to her,” said the CIRG woman who seemed if anything, to be Rachael’s advocate. “She has proven herself both perceptive and innovative. Furthermore, she is right. These children’s lives at stake, and we have very little time.”

Rachael stood seething in rage. Slowly, she returned to her seat.

“Bring her up to speed on the situation,” she ordered Galen. Rachael felt the woman’s emotions rising when he didn’t answer. “Now!”

Galen removed his glasses to wipe them, put them back on and said, “if I fully disclose the situation, will you agree to help us?”

“That depends. No more intimidation or strong arm tactics, and no more of your condescending bullshit. Period. Now tell me about the boy. Six or seven years old. Black hair, blue and white shirt, khaki cutoffs.”

Stunned to a person, they stared at her in disbelief. Booker wiped nervous sweat beading on his forehead and Rachael feared having said too much.

“What do you know of the boy,” a balding CIRG man said to her quietly.

“He was crying. Not just crying, worse. Much worse. That was Sunday night.”

“You heard him?”

“Heard him and saw him. It woke me up Sunday night. Early Monday morning, actually.”

“You saw him?”

“That was the image I saw.”

Booker leaned forward. Rachael felt the heat emanating from his body.

“Kian told you about him, didn’t he?”

“Kian couldn’t have known...” Galen said.

“He had to! She’s screwing with us! She’s playing games, going off script, what do you want, Ms. Winterhawk, A reward?”

“I don’t want a damn thing from you. If you don’t believe me then cut me loose right now!”

Their eyes locked, neither backing down.

“It’s way too late for that,” the woman stated.

“Tell me, Mrs. Winterhawk,” Galen said accusingly. “Does this happen often?”

“More than I like,” she said, breaking eye contact with Booker.

“We’re not risking everything on the word of someone who claims to be a damn psychic.”

“I am not a psychic and never claimed to be one! You brought me here and you’re the ones keeping me here, I didn’t volunteer for any of this!”

Galen sighed, wiped his glasses again thoughtfully. “Let’s all just settle down. You are right about the boy, impossible it may be.”

Heaving a sigh, Galen began. “We are investigating a child trafficking network. Kian, the man you met last night, was our undercover man. The transporter. He was having difficulties. Not checking with his handler, providing us with general, even vague, information rather than details, becoming erratic and undependable. He had been in too deep for too long and we were losing him. We had to find a way of recalling him without raising suspicion. Thus, we introduced the narrative of Chloe Moon, who was to replace Kian once we got him out. The script you didn’t follow?

“Last Saturday, Kian transported nineteen children from California to Texas. We are working with the Texas locals and had a judge and D.A. on hand to sign a warrant the minute we learned where the kids were being delivered. Unfortunately, our judge and D.A. chose to attend a fund raiser rather than making themselves available. Sure, they had the warrant and all they had to do was sign it, but, well, let’s just say they were caught up in the moment. By the time we obtained a signed warrant, we had lost our opportunity. The kids and traffickers were gone and Kian was already on his way here.”

Rachael blinked, sickened by what she heard.

“Kian lost it when he learned that he had driven those kids into slavery. He cracked. Worse, a six year-old boy was found in a shallow grave. The boy you described.”

“Why...” she choked. “Why was Kian blaming the cops?”

“He didn’t know the situation. He assumed one of the locals tipped them off.”

“So, he was at the bar last night to meet Shotgun.”

“That’s what we believe. Your intervention may have been fortunate. Who knows what Kian would have said in his condition. We knew they were planning something else but until now, didn’t know when or where. That’s where you’ve been instrumental.”

She read the pain in his face and on those around the table. It did nothing to quell her mounting rage.

“So let me get this straight. You let a boy die and eighteen others hauled off into slavery because of PAPERWORK! Because you didn’t have SIGNATURES! You spineless damn cowards!”

“It makes me sick, too, but we had no other option.”

“You did have other options!” Rachael all but screamed. Launching herself out of her chair and toppling it with a loud clatter, she threw a look of pure hatred around the room. “Those children are lost forever because none of you had the balls to save them! Your jobs and your careers and your damnable bureaucracy are more important than their lives!”

Her head pounded, visioned pulsed. Galen righted her chair and gently seated her.

“She’s too unstable to use,” Booker said.

“You,” she quietly demanded, spearing a finger at him “you keep your mouth shut. Hell, your own NCIC reported over three hundred thousand children went missing last year, not to mention some thirty thousand illegal immigrant kids that the government lost, and this is the best you can do? Incapacitated by paperwork and bureaucracy, seriously!”

“I realize...”

“You realize nothing! You are no better than the pedophiles and slave traders you hunt.”

“We lost them, Rachael. We’re sick about it...”

“Not sick enough, believe me!”

“We may still be able to help these children.” The CIRG woman softly intervened. “The trafficking network is unaware of the failed attempt in Texas.”

“I’ve done all I’m going to do. You people make me sick.” Rachael said, and pressed her palms to her temples where a throbbing headache announced its presence.

“For whatever reason, you saw the boy. Without your help, it will happen to others. And it will keep happening.”

How long she sat regaining her composure, Rachael couldn’t tell. Sickened, enraged beyond belief, she only knew that it took a long time in coming. She finally looked up and said, “Galen, will you pull up your map of the area?”

“A recon was sent out and we received a number of photos,” he said, tacitly giving her credit. The projector came to life.

“Do you have one of the cement factory? That’s the only place they’ll be able to conceal themselves.”

Galen handed her the laser pointer and scrolled through the photos, stopping at one of the cement factory taken from an altitude of 2,500 feet.

“The photo doesn’t really show it, but this gulch,” Rachael softly said, indicating a long thin line of dirt and rocks east of the factory, “is about eight feet deep before it plays out. Between it and the factory is a thick growth of brush. North, south and west is nothing but shallow rocky washes.

“If anyone is at the cement factory, they will be in the bunkhouse or administrative building, here and here. Any vehicles will probably be in the homogenization stock buildings here, and here. If I remember right, the other buildings still house abandoned equipment.”

“Excuse me,” said a young SWAT member turning towards her. “There’s no evidence that anyone is even there. Nobody has even mentioned a cement factory. It’s all speculation.”

Rachael fired a look at him, saw that he was sincere, and softened. “Kian had a note with the name ‘Place of White Clay’, or 'White Clay Place', however you want to translate it. That’s officially the unofficial name used by locals, and this is the only ‘Place of White Clay’. The cement factory is in the general vicinity, and it is the only facility with easy access. Every other building in the area is either an abandoned farmhouse, cabin or barn. Most are at least partially collapsed and all are difficult to reach. Galen, can you zoom in on the administrative building?”

“What if you’re wrong?” The SWAT man persisted.

“Then a lot of kids are going to die. Or worse,” she callously responded.

Galen did as asked, and within a tall patch of sagebrush behind the administration building came a glint of metal. He continued zooming in until it became clear.

“Is that a generator?” He mused.

“Can’t be,” Booker said.

The SWAT Lieutenant, a large graying man who until now expressed little interest in the meeting, spoke for the first time. “There, on the right. Zoom in. Is that a cable snaking in through a broken window?”

Still, the young SWAT man pushed the issue. “I’m not putting my life on the line because of a civilian’s say-so.”

“Suit yourself, but this isn’t just my say-so. I grew up in southern Utah. My cousins and I spent a lot of time in this area dirt biking so I know this country better than you do. Aside from personal experience, I have a Master’s in structural engineering and a Bachelor’s in safety engineering. I'm not some dumb schmuck off the street, I know how to think, and analyze, and consider risks. Anyone have an issue with that?”

She then continued. “Due to the wildlife, I doubt there’ll be any alarms until you reach the fence. There’s no cell towers or wifi, so everything will have to be satellite enabled. It’s at least an hour-and-a-half drive from here and I’m supposed to be there at ten.”

“Then we need to get moving,” Galen said. “Rachael, are you up to this? They will be expecting you and only you. You’re going to be on your own and no one knows how it will turn out.”

“I thought I already made myself clear about that.”

“That being said, Artemis a go.”

Galen continued without hesitation. “Stephanie, gear up and grab a van for Rachael. You’ll ride with her to the cement factory access road. Rachael? When you make the turnoff, don’t stop for more than a second or two, just long enough for Stephanie to bail. We’re putting you in harms’s way and that’s something I really don’t like doing, but you’ve got the best of the best right here in this room and we’ll keep you safe. You’re going to be our ears on the inside.”

“Don’t go making promises. You just focus on the kids, I can handle myself.”

“For the rest of you, let’s start the briefing.”

With Rachael driving, the wire once again braided into a Dutch side braid, Stephanie rode in the passenger seat armed with her AR-15, Sig Sauer, and night gear. The big van was noisy and drafty, and Rachael struggled to imagine it full of terrified children on the road to a life of hell. No wonder Kian lost it.

Not until they left the glow of Henderson city lights and entered into darkness that Stephanie spoke.

“You really hate us, don’t you?”

“Not at all. I highly respect what you do.”

“Then why the attitude?”

Rachael didn’t immediately answer. “I have premonitions. They’re cryptic and I struggle to interpret them. Then again, maybe I’m not meant to understand them until the proper time. Regardless, I feel helpless and it pisses me off. This last one really set me on edge.

“The boy who died in Texas, I heard him. I saw him, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was angry to begin with and when Booker and Galen accosted me, they didn’t even bother identifying themselves. They get things done by bullying people and throwing their weight around, and that’s something I don’t tolerate. As you can imagine, the situation went from bad to worse.”

Stephanie smiled, her face lit by the dashboard lights. “Nobody has ever, and I mean ever, popped Booker in the mouth and got away with it.” Realizing what she had said, Stephanie whipped her head around to Rachael, eyes wide, and pointed to the side of her head.

Yeah, everyone was listening, Rachael grinned as Stephanie’s faux pas cutting through the seriousness. “I told him there was more where that came from and he knew I wasn’t kidding. Seriously, though, my husband’s a detective and has worked with SWAT on several occasions, both local and Feds. They’re generally fine people performing a very important service, but people change when they move up the chain of command. They compromise their ethics and become part of ‘the system’, or they get thrown out. I’ve known good people forced into retirement, fired, or demoted because that very thing. Something for you to keep in mind.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I am damned impressed with what you did, and are doing now. You’re a special person, don’t believe anything else.”

“Thanks.”

“I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth,” Stephanie said after a time. “My parents would be considered big wheels your ‘system’ and the only reason they had me was because having a child was in vogue. I was given everything you could ask for, but I was raised by nannies, brought out like a trophy to show off to business acquaintances. I spent more time learning proper etiquette than playing, and of course, my only friends were those my parents strategically hand-picked.

“When I outgrew my cuteness, they hid me away in camps and private schools. Instead of showing me off, I was brought out to flirt and schmooze with somebody’s son or daughter, to grease the wheels on whatever business deal.” She smiled to herself. “In spite of themselves, they gave me a worldly education and this is the career I chose, much to their horror. They haven’t said so, but I think they basically disowned me, which is no big deal since I hardly know them, much less love them.”

Slowing down, Rachael took an off-ramp.

“At first, I did this to spit in their faces. I guess I also did it as a release for all those years of built-up anger. Then something changed and my parents and my old life ceased to exist, and this became my life. I haven’t seen them in maybe five years, haven’t spoken to them in three.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No reason to be. I don’t miss them. I’ve been living a life without them since I was a baby and you can’t miss something you’ve never had.”

Two miles down the frontage road brought them to a narrow, paved county road. Jack rabbits darted across the road with such frequency that Rachael moderated her speed in spite of her fast-approaching deadline.

“Five more miles and we turn off,” Rachael said. “I hope your team has night vision because if anyone’s on the towers or silos, they can see our headlights.”

“We’ve got it covered. No one said so, but your input has been invaluable.”

“Thanks.”

“I know you’re scared to death, but we have a good team. Trust them. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I didn’t see anyone protecting this afternoon while I was getting slapped around.”

“Of course not. If you would have seen us, they would have seen us. Trust me when I say that we had a bead on Shotgun and the driver the entire time.”

Rachael gave her a questioning glance.

“Thermal imaging scopes.”

“Ah,” Rachael said, letting up on the gas to make the turn onto the gravel road.

“The cement factory turnoff is in half a mile,” she said as the van rattled and bounced over the washboard road. “Get ready, because I’m only stopping for a second. There’s a culvert you can hunker down in. Watch out for scorpions because there’s no moon and they’ll be active.”

Stephanie crawled over the seat into the back of the van and waited. Rachael hit the brakes upon turning, tires slid on gravel. Stephanie was out the side door, quickly and quietly closing it behind her. Heart pounding, Rachael threw gravel in starting up again. As of now, she was entirely on her own.

Skeletal structures rose eerily above the black, mountainous skyline in the distance. Headlights reflected first off a tall chain link fence, then the two men guarding an open set of gates. Both were big and bald, and ready to open up with their automatics at a moment’s notice. Rachael rolled to a stop, heart hammering double-time as they warily flanked the van with guns trained on her. She clicked on the dome lights and turned off the headlights. One man covered her from the passenger side while the other opened her door, his rifle still trained on her.

“I’m R...Chloe Moon. Shotgun knows me,” Rachael said in a shaking voice.

He leaned across her, unbuckled her belt, grabbed her arm and dragged her from the seat. Caught by surprise, Rachael hit the hard packed roadbed with a grunt of pain. The impact knocked the breath from her and her bare arm scraped across rock and dirt, sending a fiery sting from wrist to elbow.

He pressed her head to the ground with the rifle’s muzzle while the other man searched the empty van, then climbed in and threw it in gear. Tires spun and peppered her with dirt and rocks.

Rachael was roughly pulled to her feet and marched into the compound, towards the administrative building. The van roared into a large homogenization stock building and everything became quiet, save for the crunch of gravel under their feet.

The administrative building sat dark and silent. He shoved her against the wall and pinned her with one hand while opening the door with the other, then pushed her into darkness. Grabbing her braid, he steered her through a series of hallways before coming to a room with light spilling through cracks in the door.

He knocked twice, twice more, than once. Movement. Footsteps. The door opened and Rachael was pushed into a room well lit by electric lamps. Aside from the self-appointed doorman, three sloven men sat on wooden chairs covered by blankets. Two cradled Uzis, two, AR-15s.

A wiry, bearded man sat working a laptop with an Uzi slung over his shoulder like a man purse. Probably their technical support person, Rachael surmised. The laptop set on a mouse-chewed desk nearly a century old and looking it. A CAT-5 cable ran from the laptop to a rolling server rack containing a router, external modem, network gear, security box and small blade server. Aside from the whisper of fans from the server equipment and hum of the generator through the broken window, all was silent.

Setting his gun down, Rachael’s captor spun her around and began pulling up her shirt. Slapping his hand away with indignation, she was backhanded with a blow that sent a flash of lights across her vision and knocked her to the floor. The room pitched and spun as he pulled her back to her feet.

“Then you do it,” he ordered in a low gruff voice.

Thoroughly pissed at being slapped twice in the same day, Rachael nonetheless pulled her shirt off. He gave Rachael a contemptuous grin as he firmly slid his hands around the curve of her bra, before giving a nod to her feet. Keeping a wary eye, Rachael pulled off her shoes and socks, then dropped her pants. These he bundled and gave to another man who carried them out.

“RF scan to make sure you and your van aren’t wired. Hell, they can even sew them into your clothes these days and obviously we can’t scan it here with all this equipment. Don’t worry, you’ll get them back if you’re clean. If not? Well, I guess it won’t matter.”

Rachael stood in bra and panties, defiant and determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cower.

“Take a seat and wait.”

“That’s one helluva way to greet someone you’re working with,” Rachael said and defiantly took a seat.

“We’re not working with you, you’re working for us. Maybe, that is.” Perching on the desk over her, he gave her an apprising once-over before continuing. “Quite a little vixen aren’t you? Three possessions with intent to sell, one misdemeanor eluding, and two involuntary manslaughters. Just how involuntary were they?”

Rachael shrugged.

“Yeah, we checked on you. No matter.”

“I already went through this with Shotgun.”

“Now you’re going through it with us. Why haven’t we heard of you?”

“Same reason I’ve never heard of you.”

“That smart mouth of yours’ll get you a beating.”

Rachael settled back into a chair. “What about my payment?”

“What did Kian say?”

“He wasn’t in any condition to talk.”

“Same as always. We transfer Bitcoins on delivery.”

“Delivery where?”

“Albuquerque. We’ll give you an address when you get there.”

Rachael nodded. “When do I need to be there?”

“It’s an eight hour drive. You get there between seven and nine tomorrow morning. Shotgun’s riding with you the whole way.”

“Of course he is.”

They sat in silence before her captor ordered the other two to accompany him. For what purpose he didn’t say and she didn’t ask.

“Aren’t you worried about someone stumbling onto this little setup?” Rachael said to the computer jockey.

“Pumping me for information?” He said and slid the Uzi slung over to his other side.

“I need to know the situation.” Rachael said, becoming comfortable.

“You do what you’re told, that’s the situation. If I tell you to shut up, then that’s the situation. If I bend over the desk, then that’s the situation. Got it?”

“I get it. Kian’s not coming back after bailing like he did.”

“Damn, woman, would you just shut up? Keep opening your mouth and I’ll stick something in it.”

Rachael tensed, turning away fearing her expression might betray her.

“Don’t worry, you’re way older than what I prefer, know what I mean? ” he chuckled. “But it’s hard to turn down something free, right?”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever yourself.” He busied himself at the keyboard for a few minutes then turned to her saying, “maybe you’re right, seeing’s you’re gonna drive for us. See, we’re only in any one place for a few hours. That’s why everything here is mobile. Tonight it’s this cement factory. We got people looking for places all the time. Same with Albuquerque and all along the line. When you’re not driving, you’re laying low and keeping outta trouble. Now Kian, he got in trouble. We got people who’re gonna make sure he never gets in trouble again. Don’t make the same mistake.”

He returned to the task of monitoring the alarms, Rachael watching with discreet interest. The screen was split into a dozen frames from wireless cameras that covered the entire facility. Whoever set them up knew what they were doing. Maybe ex-military, computer security geek, or Intelligence.

He suddenly jolted forward in his seat yelling, “Shit, shit, shit!” Expanding one of the cameras to full screen, they watched two SWAT members in night gear cutting the fence outside the bunkhouse.

Their reactions were simultaneous. Rachael launched from the chair as he grabbed for the radio. Having watched Mark and Dakota practice enough football to know good tackling techniques, she hit him hard, driving her shoulder into his exposed ribs. They toppled, the radio went flying. She drove him hard to the floor.

He grunted in pain, twisted, rolled her into the server rack sending it bumping against the wall. Throwing his elbow, he hammered Rachael’s ribs. She lost her grip and her breath, then he was on her, straddling her waist. Unslinging his Uzi, he brought it down with his full weight behind it. Twisting her head to one side, Rachael escaped the brunt of the blow but the gun put a gash along the side of her head. Bucking her hips, she threw him forward and drove a nukite into his throat. Her acrylic overlays were only half an inch, but that was enough to cut into his flesh. Pain shot down her index finger as a tendon in the first digit ruptured.

Choking, he reared back.

Outside, two loud booms rattled the walls. Flashbangs meant to stun and disorient the opponent. A torrent of gunfire followed.

Rachael’s shoulders scraped painfully across the rough floor under his weight. Nonetheless, she grabbed for his throat. Sweeping her arms aside, he drove his thumbs into hers and put his full weight behind it.

Rachael mouth worked like a beached fish as she choked for air. Unable to loosen the grip, blackness crawled across her vision. She pounded the side of his head with depleting strength, then slapped his ear hoping to burst an eardrum. Yellow-brown eyes gleaming back wickedly, his eyes maniacal, exhilarated at the sight of her life fading away.

Desperately, Rachael swung with what little strength remained and drove a fingernail into his ear, hooked, and ripped it back out. Screaming, he wrenched away. Blood trickled down the side of his face as he crawled off, holding his ear with one hand. Rolling onto her feet, panties askew and falling out of her bra, Rachael grabbed a wooden chair and hoisted it. The blanket flew as she brought it down on him with all her strength. It didn’t shatter quite like the breakaway furniture in movies, but the back tore loose and one mouse-gnawed leg broke off.

Staggering, coughing, Rachael grabbed his Uzi. Swinging the heavy, compact weapon by it’s thin shoulder strap, she slammed it onto his head and shoulders over and over. His face and scalp ran red from blood, spreading dark and wet through his hair, seeping from deep gouges in his face. His nose split, leaking dark crimson down his face and into his beard. Covering himself with his arms and hands, screaming for mercy, he cowered as the seven pound weapon bruised, punctured, and tore skin.

Nor did her rage abate. The children whose lives she had been unable to save filled her thoughts. She was their surrogate in exacting vengeance. He would suffer as they would.

Shaking, semi-conscience, mewing weakly, he no longer posed a threat and Rachael, exhausted and hurting, ceased her onslaught. She shuddered at the carnage. Her arms and body were spattered with congealing blood and the Uzi dangled loosely in her hand, it’s strap wet and sticky. As her emotions subsided, she now heard approaching gunfire. Whatever was going on outside was making its way towards her.

He rolled onto his stomach, torn and bloodied fingers scratched at the floor as he tried crawling away. Tucked inside his waistband was a beautiful Beretta. Now that was a gun she knew how to use for something other than a club.

Running footsteps outside the door. A staccato of gunfire. Pausing. Then a long loud burst. Pulling the Baretta from his pants, Rachael dropped the magazine, saw that it was full, slammed it back in and thumbed the safety lever.

Two long bursts of automatic fire just outside the door followed by a heavy thud, more pounding feet, then the door flew open. A man, the same bald guy who pulled her out of the van, burst inside. His eyes swept the room and he momentarily froze, shocked at the sight of her standing spattered with fresh blood, gun in her hand. Then flew into action, firing even as he swung his automatic towards her, stitching the wall with holes and filled the room with a deafening roar. Rachael swung her gun up. It exploded and bucked twice in her hand.

The first shot blew through his shoulder. The second slug tore through his side, shattering ribs and throwing him against the door. Collapsing, his body blocked it shut. Gasping, gurgling, blood trickling from his mouth, he stared at Rachael through unseeing eyes. Specks of pinkish membrane rimmed the bullet hole in his ribs.

Rachael swayed. Sagging, she caught the desk. A stark, cold sensation swept over her. Shock was coming on and she didn’t know how to stop it. Stuffing herself back into her bra, exhausted, now chilled, she righted the computer jockey’s chair and fell into it.

The laptop continued playing the ongoing action from multiple cameras. Two men lay dead in the compound, three more writhing from gunshot wounds. An SUV roared out of the compound under a cover of tracer bullets streaming from its windows. Gunshots became sporadic, then ceased altogether.

A hammering on the door, but it didn’t register in her mind.

“Rachael! Rachael!”

Running feet. A minute later, a bright little red dot danced on the wall, the door, then disappeared when it centered on her shoulders scraped raw and seeping blood.

“Rachael! Rachael, are you okay?”

Turning, she looked at the rifle tuned on her. Two dark figures moved behind it. Rachael looked down at the Beretta in her hand and dropped it on the desk next to the laptop.

A big, heavily armed figure slipped through the window followed by Booker, clumsily crawling over the window sill.

“What the hell..?” he muttered in amazement.

She followed his gaze to the small bearded man lying on the floor next to her, looking more like road kill than anything. The room was stuffy with the acrid odor of burnt powder and metallic smell of blood. The SWAT man checked him, then her gunshot victim whom he, as gently as possible, pulled from the door.

Booker grabbed her arm, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Rachael, are you okay?”

Smiling weakly and whispered, “peachy.”

“We’re getting you out of here. I’ll have a Gurney...”

“Not for me. These men first. I don’t want them dying on my account.”

“Stay here, I’ll get you some clothes.”

“Appreciate your sense of modesty, but I’ve modeled in as much. Maybe not covered in blood, though. Help me up?”

Booker, reluctantly at first, gently assisted Rachael to her feet and guided her out the door. She found comfort in the way his big, strong arm wrapped around her waist. They stepped over a body in the hallway, an AR-15 lay nearby and the floor was thick with spent cartridges.

Outside, warm dry air greeted them and Rachael paused to suck in the desert perfume. It smelled good, felt good, but she couldn’t stop shaking. Flashing lights from multiple ambulances and police vehicles silhouetted a BearCat, and unmarked FBI vehicles, and lit up the cement factory with a variety of colored strobes. A departing helicopter was making a beeline for the distant glow of Las Vegas while two more set on the ground. Funny she hadn’t heard them.

“Take her,” Booker said, and Rachael looked up to see Stephanie approaching at a fast jog. Another small group of headlights lit the desert several hundred yards up the access road.

Stephanie slipped her arm around Rachael’s waist, held her tight. Booker hurried back inside. Across the compound, Rachael heard several children crying and looked up to see medics leading a small group to several waiting ambulances. Dark, armored figures went about their business of searching for potential escapees.

“We’ll get you some clothes. Get you cleaned up,” Stephanie said, directing Rachael to a nearby ambulance.

“Are the kids okay?”

“Not a scratch. Their mental and emotional wounds are deep.”

“Take me over there,” Rachael said, indicating a patch of hard packed sand.

“But...”

“There. First.”

Stephanie assisted Rachael to the patch of sand. Pulling free, she swayed for a moment before dropping to her knees. Raising her face to the sky, Rachael voiced prayers for forgiveness, of thanksgiving, and mercy for both child and enemy. Ending in a moment of silence, she allowed Stephanie to help her back to her feet.

Rachael’s clothes were found blood-soaked under a body, and Stephanie ordered a new change to be found. A medic assisted her onto a Gurney and Stephanie prepared a bottle of water flavored with hydration powder, then scrounged a protein bar. Rachael unbraided her hair and pulled the wire free, handing it over to Stephanie.

The day’s events came crashing down both mentally and physically and she sat shivering, fighting shock while Stephanie sponge bathed the blood from her. Perhaps inappropriate, but over the past several hours they had formed a strong bond and Rachael welcomed her touch. Not that it was anything new to her. There was a time when she had been accustom to the primping of hairdressers and makeup artists. This, however, felt more like the tender caress of a daughter longing for a familial intimacy she had never known.

The medic returned to dress Rachael's injuries which, although painful, were superficial. The gash on the side of her head took three stitches and her finger with the torn ligament was splinted. The greatest pain came when her raw shoulders and arm were cleansed and dressed with antibiotics and bandaging.

The two men whom she had brutalized were wheeled on Gurneys to a waiting helicopter. IVs and oxygen were keeping them alive for now, and someone called out the time of ten forty-two. Rachael was assisted into an armored vehicle along with Stephanie and two other SWAT members she hadn’t seen before. Passing a bullet-riddled vehicle on the way out, she asked Stephanie if that was the result of her work.

It was.

As much as Rachael wanted to go straight back to the hotel, she had to first relinquish her Chloe Moon identity, collect her wallet and hotel keycard, then provide a lengthy statement. It was a little after two a.m. when she slipped into the room. Pain killers were wearing off and her body ached from strained and bruised muscles. Her shoulders and arm burned with a deep stinging sensation, head throbbed, and finger ached. Regardless, she just had to take a shower to wash the blood from her hair and filth from her mind.

’Lyss remained soundly asleep as Rachael carefully undressed, threw her blood-spattered bra and panties in the trash. The hot pressured water burned like hell through the waterproof bandages, yet she found it therapeutic to her bruised body.

Hurting too much to sleep lying down, Rachael pulled on her swimsuit coverup and spent the remainder of the night on the balcony in a patio chair. Haunted by flashbacks, she was unable to sleep, and passed the night tortured by her thoughts. Dawn was creeping across the eastern sky when ’Lyss groaned and slowly came awake.

“Rache?” She called out at seeing Rachael’s empty bed.

“Out here.”

’Lyss pulled the drapes aside and gasped. “Rachael! What in the world happened to you?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Okay, so tell me what the hell happened to you!”

“No, please,” Rachael said, pressing her palms to her eyes for a moment. “You’re not ready to hear and I’m too emotional right now to go into it. Can you give me some time to process it all? I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Don’t worry, I’m not in trouble with the cops, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking a whole hell of a lot more than that.”

“Please,” Rachael said and slowly, painfully, rose to her feet. “I hurt. Everywhere. I’m starving. Let’s get some breakfast and you go to your meeting. Stop worrying about me, I’m fine.”

“You’re a long ways from fine. You’re sure about this?”

“Yes. Maybe I’ll get a nice, gentle massage. This afternoon, we’ll grab a couple of lounge chairs, lay out in the sun - like you promised - and I’ll tell you all about it.”

"Do you seriously think I can sit through more sessions with you like this?"

"Yes, and I insist on it. Look, I'm fine. I need time to wrap my head around everything, then I'll tell you. Right now, it would be one jumbled story that wouldn't make sense. Please?"

’Lyss signed with resignation. “Okay. I know how stubborn you can be. You know, I thought this was going to be a fun, relaxing trip.”

“Well, other than yesterday, it was. And considering my premonitions, it couldn’t have been any other way. You knew that.”

’Lyss stood staring at her friend, dumbfounded.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Rachael said. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Lady, you have no idea what you look like.”