Page 21 of Firestorm

“This turns everything around,” James murmured in disgust.

“These terrible domestic terrorists,” Pamphili continued, “Are responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent lives. I know you are all as shocked as I am to learn the group of people who were once considered patriots are actually working to destroy the United States as well as the new peaceful world we are seeking to build. I feel your pain. I, too, was taken in by these people at one time. But not anymore.

“In addition to the reward, I am announcing a new task force made up of military and intelligence personnel around the world and headed up by my newly appointed commander, General Raymond Shields. This task force’s sole purpose is to track down members of Strike Force and arrest them for acts of treason. As you can see, we have their photos posted along with dossiers of members as they become available. But we need your cooperation. If you have any information about these terrorist members, there is a hotline to call to report them.” Pamphili gave the number and repeated it.

Dustin turned off the radio.

Pamphili had put a target on all their backs. Would there be any place in this world where they would be safe again?

Chapter Five

“Where are they?” Shields demanded into the phone. He’d barely been stateside a couple of hours when the news came in of the daring breakout at the secured location where they were holding Blake Hancock, friend of one of Strike Force’s core leaders, James Cooper.

A man fitting Cooper’s description and disguised as General Jackson had convinced those in charge to release Hancock into his custody. By the time he’d notified the military personnel there of the “change” in command, it was too late.

“We don’t know yet,” said Atlee Nelson, the person in charge of the makeshift prison that had now been compromised. Nelson was a former military officer turned private soldier who had been MIA at the time of the breakout. At home sleeping, according to the insignificant person Shields had spoken with.

As soon as he’d arrived in Idaho to assess the situation, Shields called the location because he suspected freeing Hancock would be Cooper’s next move. He’d been right. Just too late to stop it.

This was Shields’ time to shine. Pamphili had entrusted him to fix the mistakes Jackson left behind. His first act was to eliminate Jackson in front of his men so that they knew what happened when they failed to do as ordered.

“What have you done to find them?” Shields said through gritted teeth. He’d do the same to Nelson once he’d outlived his purpose—to find Cooper and the rest of the Strike Force extraction team.

“Our men realized the mistake almost immediately. They went after them, but somehow Cooper’s people got away.”

“Got away? How did you let that happen?”

“I’m sorry. My people were confused. And they weren’t able to reach me by cell phone. Cooper’s people were using something to jam the signals.” Nelson waited for a response that didn’t come. “Anyway, I’ve just heard from them. They’ve backtracked. Found the spot where Cooper’s people left the road. But. . .” Nelson paused almost as if he were certain what he said next was not going to be something Shields wanted to hear.

“But?” Shields demanded when Nelson strung out the silence.

“It seems they had others working with them. In the woods, our people picked up at least two other sets of tracks, and they ditched the Humvee.”

Shields closed the door to the office of the building they’d confiscated as command center. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the uniform and smiled. It fit his frame well. His hair glinted in the overhead lighting. He’d watched the earlier press conference with Pamphili when he announced his name as the new general in charge. Most of his military life, he’d been passed over for promotions. This time was different.

Now, everything was at stake. “Find them before they disappear from the area. They confiscated four C-130s. They probably used one to fly into the area. Check all airports within a fifty-mile radius, and Nelson—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fail me.” Shields ended the call and somehow resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. If Nelson messed things up for him, he would end his existence, and he’d enjoy every second of it.

He paced the office trying to calm himself before he went into the meeting with the men and women in charge of the bombing. If he failed on this mission, Pamphili would have him eliminated like he had Jackson. There was always someone out there waiting to stab you in the back, his old man had been fond of telling him. He’d been talking about his low-level job at the power company. His father had been passed over for promotion throughout his entire career. The old man died a bitter drunk.

Shields slammed his fist against the palm of his hand. He wouldn’t end up like his father. No matter what. Gathering himself, he stepped from the office and into the hall. He paused outside the conference room. Pulling in a breath, he pasted on his best “in control” expression and stepped inside the room.

Everyone jumped to their feet.

The thrill of being in charge chased down his spine. He closed the door. Kept his expression serious and moved to the head of the table. “Well? Where are they?” he demanded to no one in particular.

Most looked anywhere but at him.

When no one answered, he slammed his closed fist against the table. “Someone had better answer me, or I’ll find people who can.”

Everyone jumped. One man—a lieutenant—finally opened his mouth. “Sir, we believe some of the locals helped them escape. No doubt followers of the Strike Force’s propaganda that has been streaming on the internet.”

“I know all that. Let me guess. You have no idea who these people are?”

The lieutenant’s mouth dropped open. He gathered himself and said, “Not yet, but I’m guessing they’re former soldiers to pull off something like this. We’re searching records for former military around the area. We should have names soon.”

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