Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 34, Part 3: Sometimes you’re the windshield
A showdown in the Prudential building
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With gratitude, Bill
Last week, in chapter 34, Part 2, Diane faced off with Ira, and the crew met resistance
Chapter 34, Part 3: Sometimes you’re the windshield
They rolled on in silence, following 93 until they connected onto Route 95. Takeda and Triscuit stared out the window. There wasn’t much to see—a few random cars. A Flyer passed overhead—a small military convoy heading South.
Holly leaned to one side and took the new phone from her pocket. She looked at an incoming message, typed something quickly, and put it back.
“What’s up? Anything from the dirtbag?” Takeda said.
“No, Wake checking to see that we got out of the city.”
“Oh.”
Scott turned around in the front seat to look at her without saying anything.
“You want somethin?” she said.
“Nah,” Scott said, shooting Sheila a look. Sheila nodded without looking at him.
The silence got loud.
“Holly, your Mom lived in Portsmouth for a long time?” Scott asked over his shoulder.
She stifled a sigh and looked out the rear passenger window. “I don’t know, five or six years. Let me save you all some time because these kinds of conversations suck out my soul. Years ago, I wanted to move to the East Coast. My Mom, thankfully, wanted to as well. Or, at least she wanted to be supportive and live near her daughter. We’re very close but simultaneously can go long stretches without talking much. I won’t explain it, you get it, or you don’t.”
She was quiet for a minute. The tires hummed and thudded rhythmically over raised lane markers.
“Let me tell you something. My mother’s amazing. An angel. Raised me on her own… and let’s be honest, I can be a challenge. She never held that against me–let me learn and grow and just goddamn loved me. Mom taught me a lot about my Dad, so much so that I feel I know him. She’d say that I acted like him,” Holly laughed. “I bet she’d say that now, too. Racing to her rescue with hardly a plan.”
She made a fist and pounded on the door, startling Triscuit.
“You know she’s kind of a computer whiz. Wake mentioned my grandpa was a pretty big deal in the Silicon Valley back in the day or the days day. He taught my Mom so much cool stuff after my Dad passed. So much. And do you know what she did?”
It was quiet.
Takeda said, “What’d she do?”
“She did and still does the same thing. Free computer and coding lessons. She’s taught hundreds of people, more like thousands. The underprivileged who couldn’t afford their own systems and went on to become business owners and tech giants. I could give you a list of names that would shock the shit out of you. She won’t take their money when they offer it–when they insist. ‘Donate it, set up a foundation. I’m doing fine,’ she’d say. And she means it.” She thudded her fist on the door again.
She faced outside and swallowed hard. The car was silent, save for the low growl of the engine and whistle of the breeze through worn window fittings. Triscuit worked her way underneath Holly’s hand.
“She sounds amazing. I’m not surprised having met her daughter,” Sheila said, glancing back for a moment.
Holly laughed and wiped her eyes. “I’m startin to like these guys, Tak.”
A digital chime sounded inside the car.
Scott pressed a button on the rearview mirror. “Incoming from Wake, turning on the vid.”
The screen blipped, and Wake appeared in the narrow glass.
“What it is, road warriors! Got some intel. Can you hear me?” Wake said.
“Loud and clear,” Scott said.
“The target, if you will, appears to be on his own. There’s a single car parked in the driveway at Diane Johnson’s house. He’s a tall, skinny, beady-eyed m-fer.”
“Have you seen my Mom at all? Like, on video?”
Wake paused, “I saw a partial frame of what I must assume was her. It was timestamped before the text you received. I won’t mince words; I think she was hit with a stun gun and restrained.”
Holly clasped her hands together as if squeezing something invisible.
“I don’t have an ID yet, but the data says to consider him dangerous. He’s likely from the same group that made a run at you, Holly. The same one who killed your friend Seamus. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Recs on an approach? It doesn’t sound like we should park in the driveway and ring the bell.” Scott said, changing his tone to something with an edge.
“I have a thought, and of course I’ll defer to your expertise, Scott. Holly and Takeda should arrive at her mother’s house alone. Take a cab from downtown. This guy will know that neither of you has a car, especially one as obvious as Sheila’s,” Wake said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sheila said.
“Scott, you’ll need to get intel on the ground–stealth mode. Sheila should drop you off a block or two from the house. Make your way through woods and backyards until you get close. He might be complacent enough to be sitting there in the house waiting. He could also be looking for someone to ambush him. He may be waiting outside.”
Scott closed his eyes and nodded as if recalling a memory.
“Sheila, you won’t like this part,” Wake said.
“Oh?”
“If Scott doesn’t take the dude out outside, you will create a diversion.”
“Damn. This involves my ride, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. You’re going to crash into his car. You might even break through the garage if you do it big enough. You’re the distraction.”
Sheila made a face, “Shit. It’s worth it to nail this fucker’s balls to the wall.”
Holly touched his shoulder. Sheila patted her hand.
“I’ll get the damage to the car taken care of. Try not to destroy the house. That’ll get pricey. With that, Holly and Tak, you need to make a move on this guy. Separate him from your mother. Scott will come crashing through the back slider door unless he can find a quieter entrance on the second floor.”
“Don’t get crazy you two. I’ll neutralize the prick,” Scott said with a hint of pleasure.
“We’re getting close to the border,” Sheila observed.
“That’s all I’ve got for now. Let me get back to research and surveillance. Have a safe crossing. On the flip side!” Wake said. The screen returned to a view of the road behind them.
They slowed to a stop, in line with several cars in front of them at the New Hampshire border crossing. A large green highway sign loomed overhead.
YOU ARE ENTERING THE STATE OF NEW HAMPSHIRE
HAVE YOUR IDENTIFICATION CARDS READY
ALL VEHICLES ARE SUBJECT TO SEARCH, SEIZURE, AND DEMOLITION.
To the right of the text was the profile of The Old Man of the Mountain. Underneath that was New Hampshire’s state motto, Keep Out.
“Ya’ll best toss those tasers into the glove box like Wake said. Be smooth about it. They’re watching already.” Scott nodded at the bank of cameras pointed at each lane.
Holly and Takeda passed them to Scott.
“Look alive–and chill,” Sheila said.
The two passengers in the car in front of them were spread-eagle against its hood and being patted down. Their vehicle was surrounded by border guards wearing black tactical body armor and helmets with reflective face shields. Each carried an automatic weapon at the ready except for one that had it slung over his back. He controlled a rolling robot that crept underneath the vehicle while a similar one with spider-like legs stalked through the interior.
Two of the guards approached Sheila’s car—one on either side. The blood red of the GTO reflected in their face shields.
Triscuit began a throaty growl.
“Shit,” Sheila said. “You got papers for the pooch?”
“Awe fuck. No,” Takeda said.
The guards peered inside of the car on either side.
“You need papers to take a dog across the border?” Holly said through clenched teeth.
“Yep,” Sheila said.
The guard on the driver’s side tapped on the window with the muzzle of his weapon. Sheila rolled it down.
“Identification cards,” the masked guard said. The voice a crackling distortion through a speaker in the helmet. He peered into the backseat after giving Sheila and Scott the once-over. “And papers for the mutt.”
Sheila passed the cards to the guard who glanced at each but seemed to be staring at Scott.
“Where are the papers for the dog?” he said, focusing on Takeda, who held Triscuit.
“I’m sorry, sir. In our rush, I forgot to bring them. But she’s wearing a collar with her license tag. Will that do?”
“No, it will not. The State of New Hampshire’s regulations are clear. All animals crossing the border must come with form AQS-NH-278, which includes a detailed vaccination report. Without said paperwork, you will turn your vehicle around at the designated area.” He made a crisp cutting motion to a turn-around lane opposite them.
“Dammit,” Holly said with frustration.
“H, I’ll get out and see if someone can take Tris. Maybe one of the guys at Ralph’s.”
The guard held one of the ID cards up and looked from it to Scott’s face and back again.
“Scott Love?” the robotic voice said.
“Yeah,” Scott said, staring at his reflection in the guard’s shield.
The guard lifted the mask to reveal a face with a thick scar across the cheek and bridge of his nose. “Scorch? You dirty bastard.”
“Fuckin’ Riff-Raff. I should’ve known you’d take some rear-echelon pogue job.” Scott smiled with his eyes and thrust a hand out. The man locked hands with him, and the two muscled for control in front of Sheila’s face.
“Fellas need a moment?” Sheila said.
“Still strong as an ox,” he let go, shook his hand in the air, then waved the other guard off. “I go by Keith now, not Riff-Raff.”
“Like I’ll be calling you Keith anytime soon,” Scott said.
“The hell, Scorch. I thought you were KIA. I never heard anything official. And here you are, a ghost out strolling the countryside. Why am I not shocked?”
Holly cleared her throat.
“Ah, Keith,” Scott laughed, “I can’t do it, Riff. Can you let us through here? We’re in kind of a hurry.”
“Of course, you piece of shit. Give me your goddamn number. We’re getting that beer we always talked about.”
Scott took a scrap out of his wallet and wrote his number down. “It’s fuckin’ great to see you.”
Keith laughed, “No one could see me if it weren’t for you. Call you soon.”
“Fuckin-a,” Scott said.
Keith smiled and slammed the face shield down. “Wait here a moment,” the robotic voice said. He walked ahead to where the sentries waited for Sheila to pull up. There was an animated exchange between Keith and another guard. The other man walked away, and Keith waved the car forward. The remaining protectors of New Hampshire’s boundary stood off to the side.
The GTO chugged through the border gate at a crawl. Keith looked in the window and raised a fist, and Scott reflected the same.
Sheila gunned the engine and pulled away.
After Ira sent the text message and photo, he relaxed. “I hope your daughter loves you and understands the gravity of this situation.”
Diane stared at him with rage and twisted against the zip ties.
“Tsk-tsk, you’re not making me feel at home.”
He walked to the back door and said, “Out of politeness, I haven’t gagged you. But, if you make a sound when I open this door, it will be your last.” He flipped open a butterfly knife, held it up, and made a show of breathing on the blade.
Diane looked at the floor.
He tried the door, but it wouldn’t open.
“You have to open the lock. It’s below the handle,” she said quietly.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. A little hospitality.” He flipped the knife closed, put it in his pocket, and twisted the lock. The door slid open, and he stepped outside. “Hmm, a little fresh–aaaahhhhh!” A black bird screeched past his head, deflected off the door with a thud, and kept going.
“What the fucking fuck!” he screamed, slammed the door closed, and crumpled to the floor, waving his arms around his head.
“Hey! Hey there, are you okay?” Diane said with genuine concern.
“Mnnrgh…,” he mumbled, rocking back and forth.
“There, there, it’s all right. You’re safe inside,” she said, craning her neck to look out the door.
He lifted his head from between his knees and focused on the porch railing beyond the door. The bird landed on it and ruffled its feathers. It cocked its head at Ira, leaned forward, and let out a silent scream only he could hear.
Ira slammed his hands on his ears and shrieked.
He breached the security device on the window and slipped inside. The layout of the room was as anticipated. Faint sounds of life echoed down the hall as he stepped carefully around the bed and past a dresser.
He whispered into his headset, “I’m in, on my mark, take the door.”
Like a cat stalking prey, he crept down the hallway with his weapon at the ready past framed photos. He stepped on a spot on the floor that let out a loud creak – and froze. Adrenaline poured into his bloodstream.
“Hello?” a voice said.
Fuck, he thought.
He stayed motionless for what seemed an eternity. The air hummed. The other person wasn’t visible but surely facing his way and listening. Finally, he heard the sound of movement, then music?
One more step forward gave him confidence. Then another.
“Do it,” he said into the mic.
There was a thunderous explosion and the sound of flying shrapnel.
Perfect.
He started to run but saw a red flash and was blasted backward ten feet, landing in a heap at the end of the hall. His head swam, and he ran his hands over his chest, looking for blood or worse. There was none. His ribs hurt. Something crunched underneath him. What hit me? Is that dog food?
Sounds of smashing furniture and yelling came from down the hallway. He struggled to his feet, putting one hand on the wall to steady himself. The music got louder, and the lights went off.
The muffled sounds of bullets stitched the walls.
A door slammed.
Smoke drifted down from overhead. He began to cough. Riot control gas?
He pulled on a mask and got control of his breathing. When he reached the corner, his partners were crossing the dance floor in the thickening smoke. Flashlights mounted to their weapons cut through the haze. One of the men gestured that the target was in the room closest to him on the left. A trail of blood confirmed the location.
He affixed a charge to the door frame and stepped back. Dancing Queen started to play, accompanied by a strobe light that momentarily confused his squad. There was a grinding metallic sound, and he turned around in time to see the dance floor slide apart from the middle. In a flash, it swallowed up the men who screamed behind their masks as they dropped out of sight. The mechanical monster snapped shut, entombing them between floors.
He stood transfixed, staring at where they’d been a moment before. The charge on the door blew, snapping him back into reality. Dropping to a knee, he sprayed hellfire into the opening. He released the spent magazine, slammed home a new one, and waited, panting inside the mask, sweat trickling down his brow. What is this song?
He tapped the headset, “Backup.”
No movement or sound was coming from the room. He crept forward. The room was dark except for a few small lights illuminating a workbench. He approached cautiously, checking the angles. The sound of the chopper he arrived in grew closer. He took a step inside the doorframe. Something heavy thudded into his chest, sending him sprawling backward, his weapon skittering across the floor. He thought, Coach is gonna have to take me out. I think I’m hurt before he lost consciousness.
Wake limped around the corner after hitting the button to retract the security hammer he’d installed over the door. He wished he could tell Scott that it did actually work. But he wouldn’t get to. He was sweating profusely and breathing hard into his gas mask. His shirt was soaked with blood, and he wasn’t sure from where. Wake struggled to get to his computer with a cracked rib and a broken ankle. When he sat down, pain radiated through every nerve ending. He calmed his breathing and focused.
The primary system was down, and the auxiliary one had come online in its absence. The discoder raced through a rehearsed routine at the keyboard through gritted teeth.
The helicopter sound grew very close. He could hear men coming into the bedroom. The man that had been knocked unconscious by the hammer started to move. Behind him were the muffled sounds of the two hostages trapped in the floor.
He tapped one last key, blew a kiss to his computer system, and struggled to stand. He hopped through broken glass and over the moaning man’s grasping hand until he reached the device. Then he got inside and closed the door.
“Initiate, final command sequence,” Wake said.
“Please say the code phrase,” the device said.
“Peace out.”
The backup team of two moved forward with precision. One member grabbed their wounded man and dragged him by the armpits down the hallway. The other cleared each room carefully and found nothing. He could hear the muffled screaming from the floor but was unsure what that was. Then he noticed the device rumbling to life before him and lighting up. He looked for a power source and pulled out the heavy plug. Immediately the machine started making a different sound, gathering juice from elsewhere.
He stepped back, aimed, and sent thirty rounds into the device. The shots reflected off it and sent him sprawling to the ground to avoid the ricochet. He walked forward, intending to smash the door open with the end of his weapon, when the computer to his right caught his attention. Jungle Boogie started playing from the small machine, and a red flashing exclamation point pulsed.
He stared as it began to flash faster.
He tried tapping on the keys, but nothing changed.
He said, "Oh shit balls."
The 48th floor of the Prudential building blew apart.
Next week in Chapter 35, Part 1, “It’s a shame about Wake,” Luke uncovers another secret