Rescuing Melissa (ALPHA TEAM: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists)

8. Broken Towers

EIGHT

Broken Towers

CJ

When CJ arrived at the prison, the string of expletives streaming from his mouth would have made a sailor proud.

The triple fencing surrounding the front, and one side of the massive structure, was missing. A swath of destruction a hundred yards wide marred the ground for half a mile. Aiming straight as an arrow, trees, grass, and the top layer of soil had all been scoured from the earth.

Bits and pieces of twisted metal littered the area; parts of cars and other wreckage were vaguely recognizable. A bumper lay crumpled in the arms of a tree. A car’s hood folded itself around a telephone pole. There was even one car, a little Fiat, perched on top of an old oak tree. The majestic giant had weathered the storm well, with only a few splintered branches beneath the car decorating its canopy. In the parking lot, several cars lay on their sides. A few rested on their roofs, and their tires pointed to the sun.

All around, diligent guards stood watch, weapons ready, while other men in dirty orange jumpers stacked debris into piles. A forklift moved shredded lengths of fencing. A bulldozer growled at the edge of a field, stacking twisted metal into a massive heap.

This bullshit had better not fuck with the execution.

He’d taken time off from the Guardians, pulled himself off an active case to be here. It meant leaving Delta Team in the capable hands of his second in command, Jenny, a feisty woman climbing the ranks within Guardian HRS. She had her eye on his command and would probably get it soon. Jenny’s ambitions aside, if that bastard still pulled breath by the end of the day, CJ would have words with someone.

He pulled up to the gatehouse. The small structure stood untouched despite the devastation less than ten feet away. The guard, a massive Black man, raised a hand and held his palm out, commanding CJ to stop. He lowered the driver’s side window, an unnecessary move considering he no longer had a front windshield.

“Sorry, no visitors.” The guard rested a hand on his weapon while his gaze took in CJ and the damage to his car.

“I’m not here to visit. I’m here for the execution.” And he would be late if this guy didn’t get a move on. He had to check in by five for the six o’clock execution.

The guard rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Family or press?”

“Family.” Thoughts of his sister flitted in his head. Her laughter. Her smiles. The touches of her anger when he didn’t let her have her way. All of it was gone.

“I see.” The guard twisted his mouth. “I’ve got bad news.”

“Bad news?” CJ pounded the steering wheel. The guy better not say it. His blood heated with anger and frustration pulled at his chest. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to calm himself before he said something stupid.

The guard spit on the ground. “Been postponed.”

“Postponed?” He closed his eyes and counted to three.

The guard placed his free hand on the doorframe of CJ’s car and leaned in. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Did the bastard get a stay of execution from the Governor?”

“No.”

“Will it be rescheduled?”

The guard waved at the destruction around the prison. “Twister took down all the power lines. Hit one of our backup generators. Warden had to delay it.”

CJ’s knuckles turned white, and his teeth ached from clenching his jaw. There was a strange quiver in his gut, an unsettled feeling twisting him from the inside out.

The guard looked unsure. “Don’t think this kind of thing happens too often. Might be considered an act of God. If that’s the case, then…”

“Acts of God don’t cancel executions, at least not anymore. So what do I do now?”

He’d taken off a week from work. One day to drive to this godforsaken town. One to witness the execution. Two days to drive to his sister’s grave and pay his respects. Two days to drive back. The final day was for him, time to de-stress before returning to the rigors of his job as a Guardian.

“Don’t know, except I’ve been told to tell all the family and reporters of the delay. Someone will be in contact with you.” The guard pointed to a TV news crew setting up their satellite antenna. “Those bastards aren’t upset by the delay. Twister taking out a state prison is just as good of news as an execution.”

CJ gave the guy a non-committal grunt.

“Looks like you saw action.” The guard gave a pointed look to the missing windshield.

“Hail,” CJ said.

The guard’s brows drew together. “Looks like more than hail.” The guard huffed a low laugh. He gave the poor SUV a once-over with his eyes. “I thought we had it bad. Looks like you did, too.”

With a sharp nod, CJ answered. “Hid in a parking garage.”

“Then you know what it was like?”

The guard pointed to a tower at the corner of the field. Huge chunks of the brick walls were missing as if someone had taken a bite out of the stone. The roof was gone.

“I was in that tower when the twister hit. Ducked into the stairwell. It sucked up the roof like it was candy. Almost took my buddy Randy, but Abel and I held onto him.”

“Held him?” How could two men hold a man during a twister?

“Twister tried to suck him into the sky. Dude, you cannot imagine…” The guy’s gaze traveled along CJ’s rented SUV. “Well, maybe you can. About shit my pants. Randy pissed his, but I guess when you’re saying goodbye to your life, that’s allowed.”

“Randy’s lucky.”

“Not quite. Popped both of his shoulders out of their sockets as we held onto him. And his legs got shredded by the debris. Sent him to Saint John’s. Heard they’re busy.”

“They are.”

His mind turned to Melissa. She should be in surgery by now. Who’d be there when she woke? Would that bastard at the other end of her phone hurt her? Or would she wake to an empty room, afraid and alone? God, he felt like such an ass for leaving.

The guard continued to ramble. “Yeah. We grabbed Randy’s arms and just held on. Longest twenty seconds of my life.”

Twenty seconds?

“You counted?”

The guard shrugged. “Guessing. Seemed like forever.”

With an easy-going attitude, the guard was hard to shut up. CJ didn’t like the way the guard’s finger kept tapping the trigger guard of his weapon. He’d seen plenty of men like that. The stress of a traumatic event made them jumpy and dangerous.

It was time to leave, except his senses screamed something wasn’t right.

The one thing his time in the Army had taught him was to listen to his gut. He wasn’t a superstitious guy, but you didn’t live long in his line of work if you ignored your Spidey-sense. And, his was yelling in his ear.

He glanced at the damage done to the tower. “Did it cause any damage to the prison?”

The guard paused a beat too long before answering. “Nothing…serious.”

CJ didn’t like the hesitation in the guard’s voice or the way his eyes had cut to the high-security area. Something was up.

His vision clarified, narrowing down to one small point. He pulled in a breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. This feeling, he knew all too well.

More information was required, but this guy wasn’t going to let him dig around a prison in chaos. What he needed was best done over drinks.

He read the name tag on the guard’s uniform. “Officer Reynolds, how long have you been on shift? You look like crap.”

“Been here since night shift began.”

With a low whistle, CJ struggled to find something to say.

Chatty Reynolds made things easy. “My shift was ending when that storm blew through. Couldn’t leave, and now I have to wait for relief. National Guard is on its way. As soon as they get here, I’m heading for a drink.”

“Do you know Grady’s pub back in town?” CJ couldn’t have asked for a better lead-in.

“Heck yeah, best pub in town. The only place that serves beer in the morning. Me and the guys usually unwind there after our shift.”

“Well, Grady’s is still standing. Why don’t you and your buddies stop by when you get off? I’ll buy a round, as thanks for what you’re doing here.” He leaned forward, making a show of looking around. “You know, if you need an extra hand, I’ve got experience.”

“Prison’s on lockdown,” Reynolds said with a shake of his head. “Go back to your hotel, and someone will get in contact with you.”

“How about that drink?” Damn, he wanted to poke around the prison, and see what had everyone on edge.

“After the day I’ve had? Shit, that sounds damn fine.” Reggie glanced up the road, and a broad smile lit his face. He pointed to a convoy packed with National Guardsmen. “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”

“Well, there you go, Officer Reynolds.”

“Shit, call me Eggs, everyone does.”

CJ nodded. “Charles Rowan, Jr, and my friends call me CJ.”

“Cool. Don’t know how long this song and dance will last CJ, but I’ll be there for drinks for sure.”

“Like I said, first round’s on me.” CJ’s eyes narrowed as he watched the trucks approach. That was more than a little help. Something was up.

CJ pulled forward until he could turn his car around. The men in the convoy looked serious, grim expressions were plastered on their faces. They were kitted out too, with bullet-proof vests and weapons. Ten trucks were a significant force, more than should be required to guard a prison—even when the outer fencing had been ripped to shreds.

Noting the small things kept him alive. It’s what made him an excellent Green Beret. It’s how he got recruited as a Delta operative, the most elite force in the military. Eggs’ hesitation, and the too many National Guardsmen, were both questions he’d have the answers to after buying Eggs and his friends a couple of rounds of beer. In particular, he wanted to know what was up with the high-security area.

Shared tragedy, heroism, and plenty of booze loosened men’s tongues. Fortunately, he had the perfect story to share.