Freedom Day

Chapter 8 - "The Engineer"

"The Compound", Outskirts of Redmond, Oregon
Later that night.

...

It's Moving Day.

Caleb kept himself busy in the office by filling a green ammunition box. Everyone else tended to their own thing: hoisting crates, reviewing manifests, or keeping watch at the perimeter. Some of the men were by their children. The little ones bawled and yelled while their fathers did their best not to cry. There were a dozen kids in the Compound, and they were all to be sent away to prepare for the coming storm. A school bus waiting to drop them off somewhere out of state. The air was rather tense.

More than 24 hours had gone by since Hong Kong reported back. Goh Daoming had also gone dark. The other cells in France and its neighbors had been silent for far longer, but that was because they were busy with the prepping. With what happened over the past few days, nobody was sure anymore if things were fine or if they were going to hell in a hand basket. Such were the realities of a compartmentalized operation.

The relative peace was broken when a couple of butterfingers dropped one of the crates outside. The sniper looked on as two men with tactical vests hurried to the overturned container and returned it to the truck bed. There was no time to point fingers. However, at least one person had his priorities skewed. A curly-haired man, tan-skinned, and sporting a well-trimmed beard. He was the newest addition to the group, rescued all those months ago from a foreign shithole.

"This is not part of our deal!", The Engineer came up to him, angry. "Why are you sending me north?!"

Again, his English didn't have a hint of Arabic on it. He had acclimatized to his new environment well. Or rather, that's what he wanted everyone to think.

"Hey, are you deaf?!", he yelled again. "I'm talking to you Hinney!"

"What more do you want?", Caleb spat back. "Up there you'll have your boat, your private casino, your own suite..."

In other words, the typical vices of a man 'with taste'.

"I'll be in the middle of nowhere!"

"You'll have a dozen men with you. You can continue your work from there..."

The argument felt like a broken record. After what happened in Los Angeles, it dawned on everyone that the Compound would be compromised soon. Concessions had to be made to prepare for this inevitability. An elaborate deception to catch the cops off guard. Yet, the resident chemist continued to refuse his role in the ploy. As if he felt he was being sent away as a sacrificial lamb. After all these months, he still didn't trust the rest of his colleagues here: the so-called 'White Masks'. Little did he know that they felt the same way towards him; the professionalism was just a thin veneer.

"...Besides, it was you who agreed to work for us, right? That means following orders, no questions asked."

"You mean like those idiots over there?"

"They're not needed for 'D-Day'. And you know what? They're okay with it. Hell, they've accepted it, like patriots. Real men. Unlike you."

"They're dead men. And you are all shortsighted fools!"

The Engineer then walked up to the bald man, threateningly. Working hands became still as the other workers started to gawk at the confrontation between the two. Their best sniper and point man, up against the genius behind the Freedom Day attack's success.

"Real men. Patriots. Duty...", the latter went on. "...You think you're a big guy because you used to live by those words? Do you jerk off to them every night before you sleep?"