Edge of Black

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“Soldiers?”

“Some. Some want to be. Some could have been, but chose a different path.”

Sam felt the edge begin, the panic, like an annoying little mosquito buzzing around her head. She pulled her hair back into a chignon, stuck a chopstick through the knot to hold it in place. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. In four counts, hold four, out four, wait four. Then, the urge to wash her hands dispatched, she addressed her lover.

“Xander, honey. It’s late. I’ve been up for twenty hours, been in the middle of a terrorist attack, did an autopsy on a congressman, and have my own little anxiety disorder brewing. Would you mind cutting to the chase?”

“Survivalists, Sam. I don’t think this was a terror attack. I think it was one of our own.”

Chapter 11

Sam’s expression moved from confusion to incredulity in a matter of seconds.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Are you talking like...what, a militia?”

“No. Well, sure, some of them. It’s like any group of people, there’re bad seeds mixed in with the good and innocent. There are militias spread all across the country, homegrown groups who like to think they’re the law, parade around in uniforms, ragtag batches of locals who spew nonsense and are basically harmless. But there are groups who are dead serious, people you wouldn’t want to cross. The government keeps a damn close eye on them. And some of them are idiots, people who are just wrong in the head and can’t be fixed. Skinheads, those kinds of yahoos.”

“Ruby Ridge?”

“Right. But the people I’m talking about—no, they’re not militia. Just concerned private citizens who have shared their knowledge of survival to help like-minded individuals prepare in case there’s a catastrophic event. Anything from a nuclear bomb to economic collapse to a tornado.”

She noticed he didn’t say flood, though that would certainly qualify.

“They’re good people, just trying to figure out where we’re headed, and what to do in case something awful happens.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. Sometimes she forgot that they came from very, very different worlds. She was a debutante from Nashville, a good little Southern girl, raised on manners and money and all things genteel, and he was a soldier who’d been raised by hippies, seen too much and had a healthy mistrust of the government.

He must have caught her thought, because he continued. “Okay, this isn’t something that you and I have talked a lot about. It’s hard to understand, but there are people out there who think things are going to hell in a handbasket, and are trying to make preparations in case it does. They’re harmless, and smart. They’re like pioneers, able to grow food and build shelter and live off the land and, most importantly, defend themselves if it’s needed.”

“Like you.”

He smiled.

“Like me. Many of them are ex-military, of all generations. You know many of us don’t fit back into the world anymore, Sam. What we’ve seen, what we’ve done, civilians can’t necessarily comprehend. It’s only natural that some of us fall back on our training, and want to be prepared. Just in case, you know? When, or if, the shit hits the fan, you’re going to want us on your side, if you get my drift.”

“I follow.”

“Okay. So this one group that I check in on from time to time lit up last night. Like they knew something was about to go down. Chatter.”

“And the feds didn’t see it?”

“Trust me, there are no feds in this group. It is very private.”

“There’s no privacy online. You’ve told me that a million times.”

“And that’s true. But even if they do know about it, they can’t get in.”

“My God, Xander, if these friends of yours were talking about an imminent attack, why didn’t you do anything? Say anything?”

She’d said the wrong thing. He closed up tight as a drum. Slammed the laptop closed and stalked from the room. He went to the bedroom, started gathering his things.

She followed. “Xander, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. This isn’t your fault. None of it is your fault.”

He kept his back turned. “You don’t get it. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. I should have said something. Maybe if I had, it wouldn’t have happened. Instead, I couldn’t sleep, and finally ended up leaving Thor with Bryan at the Forest Ranger station and heading down to the city. I must have just missed you this morning, but by then it was too late. The attack had already occurred.”

She took the bag and his semi-folded shirt from his hands and set them gently on the bed.

“Hey. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted, and that came out wrong.”

He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Accepted. There was nothing specific anyway, just a couple of guys talking about this dude they knew who had recently joined up, and was flapping his gums. It just felt...wrong to me.”

“All right. So let’s call Fletcher and let him know.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s not. He can get a subpoena, go after their records—”

“Seriously, it’s too late. The site’s dark.”

“Dark?”

“Gone. The owners took it down. It’s like it never existed.”

Sam wasn’t a computer expert, but she knew that it was virtually impossible to get rid of every footprint on the internet. Caches existed of material. It could be accessed. Someone talented enough could get in there and find it. She told Xander that. He shook his head.

“You don’t understand. The group doesn’t exist. The site doesn’t exist. It was a closed portal on another site’s network, accessible only to certain people who knew certain ways to get into it, and then had the proper passwords. They’ve erased everything.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking despondent.

“You know who they are, though, don’t you?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I know their internet handles. I’ve been looking for them since you left. I’ve trolled every site I can think of, and a few that I had no idea existed. They’ve gone gray.”

“What’s that mean?”

“They’re hiding in plain sight, where no one will be able to find them until this thing is over. They’ll lay low and wait until the time is right to resurface. They can’t take the chance that they’ll be strung up in this mess.”

Sam’s pulse increased. “Until this is over...you mean he’s not through? Whoever did the Metro attack?”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Xander. There’s no choice here. We have to tell Fletcher. Right now. He’s been added to the Joint Terrorism Task Force. He’ll know what to do.”

His answer was very pointed. “I know what to do.”

“You just said you’ve been searching for them all afternoon with no luck. Let Fletch and the JTTF take it from here. This is too much for just you. You’re brilliant and talented and, given the right amount of time, I have no doubt you could find them. But, Xander, people are dead. More may die. It’s bigger than you, or me, or a group of like-minded individuals on the internet. We need every available resource on this. If they know who this is, or what he might do next, they must be found.”

“Fletcher won’t find them. He has no idea what he’s up against.”

Sam knelt before him, took his face in her hands.

“We have to let him try. Okay?”

Xander hesitated a minute, then nodded. “Okay. But you better get a guarantee out of him first.”

“A guarantee of what?”

“That he doesn’t come roaring in here and arrest my lily-white ass.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Fletcher might not. But the feds? They don’t exactly stop to ask questions. Shoot first, that’s what they’re taught.”

“You mean that metaphorically, don’t you?”

He gave her an exceptionally oblique look that again reminded her just how different they really were.