“Ah, I thought it might be a sandstorm.” Hiding an army of looters!
“More like sand in the machinery.”
True. Those little grains of annoyance get into everything.
“How’s target practice?” Elese asks.
“I decided to take pity on Mr. Orange Light. Let him feel like he’s doing well for a change.”
“That good, eh? Just wait until he starts shooting back. I doubt you’ll take pity on him then.”
“He can shoot back?” Yikes.
“Only way to learn how to aim and fire during a battle situation. You think it’s hard now, wait until you’re jacked on adrenaline, in a dark room unable to see the enemy.”
Like the shadow-blobs. “I get it.”
“No you don’t. But you will.”
Those ominous words echo in my head as I return to the shooting range. Mr. Orange Light no longer appears friendly. And I no longer allow distracting thoughts to wreck my concentration.
No surprise, I’m ordered to report to the conference room that afternoon. As I take a seat, I consider asking Niall for some of his mom’s paintings to brighten up the place. I spend more time in here than my bedroom. Granted, I don’t have many other options.
The usual suspects are here: Mom, Dad, Radcliff, and Morgan. All in the same seats, which is kind of funny. However, no one is smiling. Nope. It’s easy to guess that Radcliff told them Jarren’s location.
“Please explain to everyone what you were doing last night,” Radcliff says.
It doesn’t take me long.
“I thought you said you had control,” Mom says to me. Her tone is harsh.
“I do. Except when I’m worried about something.”
Dad touches her arm as if to say ease off the girl. Her posture softens.
“How does Jarren know about you?” Radcliff asks me.
“I’m assuming DES tipped him off about our escape from his blockade, then, when he examined the breach, he figured out who created it.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t due to worming in your sleep?”
It’s a valid question, yet the desire to shout, Why do you always blame me? burns in my throat. “Yes. At first I thought he was just a bad dream because I’ve been fretting about him. But I think he was searching for me.”
“We’ll assume Jarren has been monitoring our communications with DES since yesterday. Please limit your messages to unimportant communications and say nothing of our security measures,” Radcliff says.
In other words, don’t tell DES we know where Jarren is hiding.
“We also need to train and arm as many people as we can before he arrives,” Radcliff continues. “Morgan, I want you to organize this A-sap and coordinate with Spencer regarding personnel. The archeology techs can help.”
“Yes, sir,” Morgan says.
“What I want to know is why didn’t the satellite pick up on their thermal signatures?” Dad asks.
“They’re smarter than the average criminal,” Morgan says. “They located their base of operations on a hot spot. Deep underneath that area are thermal vents from volcanic magma. There’s hot springs all over. Jarren and his goons are probably enjoying nice hot baths every night.”
“And can’t he worm into the satellite and alter the feeds?” Mom asks.
“He can and did,” Radcliff says, then he meets my gaze.
And he can again. “I better check all our security measures to ensure he hasn’t overridden them.”
“Good idea, Lawrence. I also need you to find out how many people are at Jarren’s base, what weapons they might have, equipment, and if they have security patrolling the forest.”
“You’re not thinking of attacking them, are you?” Mom asks.
“It’s an option. Depends on their numbers and readiness. If they’re not expecting it, an attack could be quite effective.”
“And dangerous.” Mom is looking at me.
“It’s just as dangerous if they attack us. We need more information A-sap.”
About that. “I’m going to require Officer Dorey’s help.”
“Update him about Jarren’s status,” Radcliff says. “The rest of the team will be informed later this afternoon. Dismissed.”
I hop up and head for the door, but my mom cuts me off.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“Now?”
“No. Tonight after dinner, just thought I’d warn you.”
I clutch at my chest in mock surprise. “That’s a first. Who’s dying?”
She swats me on my bicep. “Brat.”
“Takes one to know one,” I tease.
“That’s mature.”
“True, though.”
“Go, before I show you just how bratty I can be.”
I resist the urge to stick out my tongue at her before leaving. Beau’s waiting for me in his office.
“Another meeting? What’s the big secret this time?” Beau asks.
Ah, he’s still sore over the whole worming-without-tangs thing. “You’re going to regret asking that question.”