Storm Surge by J.D. Rhoades

their own power. And there seems to be someone with them. I can’t tell who it is, but I can’t
raise Two. And he’s not kitted out like Two .”
    Blake
considered for a moment, then looked down at Montrose.
“What’s the status?”
    They were
inside the Buchan home, in the upstairs room where the Senator kept an office.
Montrose was crouched on her haunches, staring intensely at the squat,
featureless black box of his safe. The safe was set into a niche in the wall behind
a bookshelf. The books that concealed it had been yanked out and tossed
carelessly on the floor.
    “You sure
whatever you’re looking for is in there?” she said.
“Cause this thing’s gonna be a bitch to open.”
    “It wasn’t in
his office in the Capitol,” Blake said, “or in his home in Georgetown. Or his
place back in Vermont.”
    “ You been breakin ’ into the office
of a U.S. fucking Senator? Jesus, what is this thing you’re after?”
    “It’s a
package. About the size of a photo album. That’s all
you need to know. When you’ve acquired it, you’re not to open or examine the
contents, is that understood?”
    “Yeah, yeah, I
get it.”
    “I want to
make sure you do, Montrose,” Blake said. “Because I’m going
to have to leave you alone with this thing for a little bit. My orders are, that if any member of this team opens that package, or
examines the contents, I’m to terminate them.”
    Montrose
turned slowly to look at him. “Say what?”
    Blake didn’t
answer.
    Montrose shrugged, her face hard. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” She opened the case at her side and took out a pair of alligator
clips, trailed by long wires. “Now fuck off and let me work. I’m gonna need the generator.”
    Blake keyed
his mike as he backed slowly out of the room, his eyes on Montrose. “Three.
Fall back to the objective. And Four , keep trying to
rise Two. He might be taking a leak or something.”
    “Or something,
yes,” Phillips said.
    ***
    They stood at
the ferry landing, staring foolishly at the empty water.
    “How the hell
could they have left us?” Sharon said.
    “They didn’t
know,” Mercer said. “Or didn’t care.”
    “What do we do
now?” Glory asked. Sharon noticed she was looking at Max as she said it. A
shiver of panic ran down her spine.
    “Power’s out,”
Max said. “I’m betting the phone will be too.” He stood in thought for a
moment. “There’s a radio at the marina,” he said. “Ship to
shore. And a generator. If we can get to that,
we can signal the mainland.”
    “And
what then?” Sharon
demanded.
    “We’ll take it
from there,” he said. “Come on.” He unslung the machine gun and started off at
a walk. Glory looked at her mother, then fell in
behind him. She didn’t know what else to do.
     

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
     
    “Swimmer,
Co-pilot.”
    Alvarez keyed
his intercom mike. “Co-pilot, swimmer.”
    Even over the
headsets, the words were almost drowned out by the roar of the helicopter’s
massive engine.
    “Can’t
say I like this weather, Chief.”
    The pilot
didn’t say anything. She was too busy trying to hold a steady course in the
devil wind that seemed determined to throw the big HH -60
Jayhawk helicopter across the sky before dashing it into the sea.
    “Sorry,
Lieutenant,” Alvarez called back, “Next time we’ll try to do better. We’ll
arrange a SAR on a sunny day with low humidity. Sir.” Neither pilot answered. Alvarez shook his head. Like every non-com since the
armies of the Pharaohs, he despaired over the officers the powers that be kept
saddling him with.
    “You have to
go out,” the saying went. “You don’t have to come back.” At one time, it had
been the unofficial Coast Guard motto. Back in the days of the dinosaurs, when
Alvarez had been a raw recruit at the training center at Cape May, New Jersey,
he had made the mistake of raising his hand when a Company Commander had
recited that mantra. The CC had stared at him stonily, then asked ‘yes,