+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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The agents at the roadblocks were grateful to hear Brock's order to go back to the cabins. It had started to snow, and the cold air felt like a knife at every breath.
Russell and Brock left Ashland with Tanya on speaker, for a last update before they lost coverage.
"So they took a detour down desert trails to avoid our checkpoints," repeated Brock to make sure he'd gotten it right, eyes fixed on the road.
"Yes, sir. And they headed to the east side of Fish River Lake. Russell, check your email before you lose signal, 'cause I sent you a copy of the stream, with coordinates and all."
"On it. Why do you want us to watch it?"
"Because I don't get it and it's driving me nuts! I mean, they just disappeared in the middle of nowhere! The same nowhere you just searched on Friday. There's nothing there! Trees are so tight together, you could hardly set a tent!"
Brock couldn't help a quick, tight smile at how annoyed Tanya sounded, as if losing track of the subjects were a personal insult.
"It's okay, Lawrence. We have the coordinates, and it's snowing, so we'll be able to find their trace in the morning."
"You do need Ron's motion scanner," the girl said.
And Ron, and the rest of the punks with him. That thought made Brock angry at himself.
The girl said something more, but only isolated words reached them.
"We're losing you, T. Call us on the sat phone from now on." Russell disconnected and sighed with a grimace. "She's right, you know? Ron's scanner would come in very handy. As well as Ron and the rest of the team. I mean, Janowsky's people are fine; they're good and driven assets. But... You saw Coltrane back at the hospital. She totally lost it, man. We're lucky she reacted enough to call us before breaking down."
Brock agreed, but anyway said, "You don't trust their reactions under pressure."
Russell shrugged. "We're trying to locate a neonazi militia. Violent, dangerous weirdos, heavily armed, who enjoy beating people to death. And they may be ten, but they may also be thirty, or fifty... I trust our Tac teams. But if push comes to shove, I don't know if the others have what it takes to be up to the situation."
Brock arched his eyebrows. He knew where Russell was going, and hated the fact that he was right.
"Believe me, Brock, as soon as we find them, I'd call Reg to chain Al to a desk and join us with the rest of the team."
"You wouldn't want Miles here?" Brock asked, a little surprised.
"What? Hells, no. I'm not you, man. I don't know how you do it. I couldn't keep my cool like you, if I had to see Al taking half the risks Reg usually takes."
Russell saw Brock's sudden scowl at his words and swallowed a mocking scoff. Before he tried to come up with some lame answer, Russell turned to his phone, to check the video he'd downloaded from his inbox.
Brock stiffened as if Russell had just slapped him, feeling exposed and somehow betrayed. But most of all, he felt like a complete idiot. And he hated feeling any of it. Grunting to himself, trying to ignore the awkward silence, he focused on the thickening snow. He didn't even try to answer. Lucky him, for once his sarcasm played on his behalf. The Bureau had managed things without Gillian for eighty years. And he'd survived twenty years of very active field service before coming across her. So he'd be damned if he needed Gillian and her punks to handle this case.
Back to the cabins, Brock let Russell tell the others they'd be out by sunrise, no matter the weather, and watched the satellite video. Basically, to try to shake off his bad mood. As if. He went to bed only to keep sulking in dreams. And right before falling asleep, his sarcasm made amends for being temporarily sympathetic. It wished him good night with one last comment: sulking over her like back in the good old days? Bad thing now you know what it means, huh?
He pulled up the blankets to his chin and shut his eyes. Yeah, but one thing was having feelings for her, and pretty other was being unable to do his job without her around—especially when "her around" would mean getting distracted from his job all the time to try to keep her safe.
No, he wasn't falling for this one. This was his dragon, and he'd take it down all by himself.
Next morning, he had everybody wear white and brown as much as possible. The Tac teams shared their spare snow gear, and soon all of them wore colors that could blend with the surroundings. The snow stopped when they were on their way to the coordinates Tanya had given them. The clouds opened and temperature rocketed down. Soon frost spread all over the fresh snow, promising to turn the road into a nice rink for them on their way back.
Brock ordered to leave their vehicles half a mile before their destination. He knew it was cruel, making them walk in that sharp cold, skidding on frozen puddles and sinking their feet up to their ankles in the snow. But it was safer. So they checked their radios, drew their guns, and the Tac teams took the lead into the thick woods.
When they reached the spot, they found a tiny cabin among the trees, hardly any more than a tools shed. No signs of people in or around, no visible vehicle, nothing. The place was deserted.
Brock sent the Tacs to surround the shed. Soon one of them called on the radio. "There's a trail. It starts here and heads north."
Brock and Russell joined the man, as three more Tacs came closer as well. It was a narrow trail, winding away under the trees, right through the heart of the forest. There was no telling where it led.
But there was one thing Brock could tell: the thick canopy closing above them had covered the trail from most of the snow, save a very thin layer. So thin, it shaped out every pothole and stick on the trail. And also every trace. The design of the four-by-four heavy-duty snow tires was clear and clean.
"The snow isn't mixed with mud," said Russell, crouched by the track to study the prints. "Means they left before it covered the trail."
"Not long after they disappear on the satellite," said Brock.
"So what now?"
Brock looked up, his eyes following the track under the trees. "We're gonna find out where it leads."
.
.
Keep reading on the next episode: BLACKBIRD 23 - the hill
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