41. The Recovery Team
The Recovery Team
Iwas never fond of flying. Or airports. The craziness, the hurrying to your gate.
And of course, the lines. But worst of all were the poorly maintained airplanes, with parts of the fuselage held together by duct tape.
My heart sank whenever I saw any on my scheduled flight.
It’d bring back memories of one occasion when some of it came loose mid-flight.
Just like my grandad’s old Pontiac, the rear bumper was held in place with tape and screws.
So, it goes without saying; I wasn’t too thrilled about being forced into this vacation.
Flying out of the country was never part of the equation.
But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Not if what I read in this handout was true.
No one said a word. The entire cabin was silent, except for the creaking of the plane.
We had hit some turbulence gaining altitude, and at one point, it got so bad that a guy took out a rosary.
Then, just as fast, the plane leveled out, and the shaking and creaking of the fuselage ended.
A seatbelt light at the front of the plane switched off. And I let out a deep sigh.
“The pilot switched off the light. It’s safe to remove our seatbelts and get to work,” Belle said.
She was the first to jump out of her seat.
The rest barely flinched. Their eyes were glued to the paper.
Occasionally, one would look to the side, to their colleague, with blank expressions, but what their words failed to convey, their eyes did.
“We need to go over the information packet I’ve given you all here.
It’s important everyone understands that this information is highly classified.
What you learn here today, you’ll take to your grave.
Only those working on this project and the top brass at the Department of Defense have any knowledge of it. ”
“This information can’t be right,” Spider said. He rose to his feet slowly. “How is this possible?”
“It’s a joke! Right? We’re being sent on a training mission?
” a man said from behind Spider. He was the youngest-looking one in the group.
He had spiky black hair with streaks of red that contrasted his pale, white, anemic face.
And on his vest, there was a cartoonish drawing of a hundred-dollar bill.
Like something you’d see at a paintball competition, not in the FBI’s premier tactical unit. The Hostage Rescue Team, or HRT.
“This ain’t no joke, Benjamin,” Spider barked back.
“It’s Cash,” Benjamin replied as he nodded and sank into his seat. He behaved like a scolded child.
“Perhaps we’re being tested. The stolen technology is a trial.
Through God alone, will our mission be successful,” the man seated across me said.
He was an odd one, too. His hair was normal, though.
And his skin tone was a healthy mediterranean bronze.
But his eyes were something else. He had the deepest blues I’d ever seen.
Like staring into the abyss only to watch it looking back at you. “It’s a trial. For all of us.”
“If you say so,” Belle replied with a confused stare.
“This is Paul. He joined us after our job together in California,” Spider said, pointing at the guy seated across from me.
He had a fair complexion. And his hair was a fair brown.
He, too, had a patch on his vest, but this was far more appropriate.
A Celtic cross. “Or rather, Saint. It’s his callsign, though he doesn’t like it too much. ”
“Before we begin, I guess I’d better introduce you to the rest of the team,” Belle said.
She walked over to the only woman in the group.
She was a small thing. Petite and frail-looking.
She had brittle blonde hair and big brown eyes.
The vest she had on covered her more than it was supposed to.
And, frankly, she looked like she wasn’t strong enough to even lift a handgun, let alone carry a full load out.
“This is Nancy! She’s an expert in explosives. Her call sign is Widow.”
“Nice to meet you,” I stuttered to her. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe she was to manage explosives, or that HRT used any at all.
“Hi!” Widow chirped back.
“That guy there with the great blonde hair is Isak callsign ‘Thor’, the weird guy next to him with the glasses is Charles callsign ‘Professor’, and that guy sitting to your right is Jerry,” Belle said quickly as she passed the other men.
“Jerry? What type of call sign is that?” I said.
“None. That’s my name,” Jerry replied.
“Why are you the only one without a call sign?” I said. The others in the group groaned. I could tell it was a sore subject.
“Let’s not get into it right now,” Spider said with a half-smile.
“I mean, I’d love to talk about it. It started,” Jerry said before Belle cut him off.
“We don’t have time for this,” Belle shouted.
Everyone went quiet and their attention turned to her.
“If we don’t get this device back, it might lead to the destruction of the world as we know it.
The rules-based system that has governed for so long, western values, democracy, all of it will be destroyed if it falls into the wrong hands.
That’s how dangerous the contents of this device are.
Our main objective is to retrieve the stolen drive, and more importantly, prevent the device access to the internet.
It must never connect to a system of sufficient computing power with a physical connection to the internet. ”
“Why?” Saint asked, still holding onto the rosary.
“It’ll escape.” Belle replied softly.
Those words stuck with me for a while. It didn’t make any sense. None of it did.