Washington D.C., Downtown East Sector
1942 EST


"So, do you have a plan?" asked Gregory casually as the two of them walked along the street.

Ryckmen shook his head slowly. "Plan, no. But I do have a couple of ideas. With a little help, they might be refined into a plan. Right now, we have the capability to send radio messages, correct?"

"Yeah, the capability to send and receive. But they're unsecured because the watches are dead and ISAC is offline. The White House can get away with broadcasting because everybody knows where it is, so there's no point in trying to hide. But agents in the field don't have that luxury. Anybody listening with a simple police scanner will know we're coming. And if somebody with the right gear hears us, they can localize our position within minutes. They hear us often enough, they'll be able to track us and ultimately kill us."

"All very true. Good to know you have a firm grasp on the fundamentals of communications discipline. However, we're having to operate under certain exigent circumstances at this particular moment. We need to make contact with Kelso. We could fumble around the area until we literally stumble over her, but that's probably going to waste a lot of time we don't have. Plus," Ryckmen said with a grimace, "it's likely to get us shot. So, we're going to have to do things a little differently."

"Like how differently?"

"Basically, we're going to play brontosaurus. We send a message which Kelso is likely to pick up, letting her know we're coming. We'll assume the Hyenas can hear us, so we won't give any specifics they can use against us. Do you know Kelso?"

"No. I only got into town early this afternoon. She must have been in a different class when I went through the Ranch. She's Tactical, I know that much from the guy running the show at the White House."

"Good enough," grunted Ryckmen. "Let's hope she can think on her feet. You're going to send the message."

Gregory's eyebrows went up. "Me?"

"Yup. Assuming the Hyenas pick up the message, I want them expecting a computer geek who can barely shoot straight. The more we can throw their force appreciations off, the better I'll like it. Let's practice a couple of times before you go live." Ryckmen gave Gregory a feral grin. "The delivery is going to be critically important."

* * *

Alani Kelso sat huddled behind a large planter on the third floor of the Grand Washington Hotel. She'd slipped inside when some of the Hyenas had gone to investigate a small distraction she'd set up. But now, she wasn't entirely sure where she was going. The intel she'd gathered so far told her Eleanor Sawyer was somewhere in the building. But the hotel was big enough that a room by room search would take forever. Not to mention she'd probably be swarmed by Hyenas long before she'd completed a significant fraction of the rooms. Kelso knew it wouldn't be easy to find and rescue Eleanor, but she'd committed to it, and hell or high water she'd get the girl out alive.

A soft chirp came into the earpiece on Kelso's right ear. "Agent Kelso, wherever you are, this is Agent Paxton Gregory of the Strategic Homeland Division, Analytics Branch."

Kelso bit her lip hard. What was an Analytics guy doing out here? More importantly, why was he broadcasting in the clear when he had to have been briefed by Ortega on their comms situation? She thought furiously for a few moments. If Gregory knew he was broadcasting on an open frequency, then either he felt it was important to get a response from her, or he was playing at something. Possibly trying to run some psy-ops on the Hyenas. Kelso swallowed hard, then activated her mic. If nothing else, she might be able to use Gregory to help create a much better distraction for the Hyenas. "This is Kelso, Agent Gregory. What's your status?"

"I was asked by the Theater to help you locate one Eleanor Sawyer. Do you have a firm location on the hostage?"

If Gregory really was a Division agent, he'd need to know how to link up with her. But telling him that would also give away her position to any Hyenas listening. She chose her words carefully, praying that Gregory was sharp enough to get the drift. "Not yet. I'm in a flophouse currently investigating a lead. It's a disaster with delusions of grandeur."

There was a few moments of silence, then Gregory came back. "Understood. I've got a guidebook helping me find my way around. I'll try to catch up with you. Be advised, I should reach you in approximately twenty minutes. My watch is running about five minutes fast, though."

Kelso's eyes widened. Gregory wasn't alone. At the very least, he had some members from the Theater's security contingent helping guide him. And he was probably very close. She did some quick math in her head, assuming "five minutes fast" suggested a multiplier rather than a straight number. If she was understanding him right, Gregory and company should be here in four minutes. "Copy that, Gregory, twenty minutes. See you soon. Kelso, out." There wasn't a lot of time to do much, but she needed to give the Hyenas something to distract them to create an opening for Gregory. Kelso had been saving one of the bricks of C4 to make "hockey puck" breaching charges, but for this operation, it was worth using a quarter pound for a shaped charge. And as her eyes lit on an emergency fire hose, a smile came to her face. "Perfect," she whispered.

* * *

"There's a loading dock on 11th Street. Probably a better way inside than trying the front door, wouldn't you say?" asked Ryckmen semi-rhetorically.

Gregory nodded vigorously. "I don't think I want to meet any of the door men they've put in place since the crisis started."

"Me, neither." Ryckmen reached back, frowning as his fingertips passed over a loop on his backpack.

"Forget something back at the Theater?"

"Nah. Something I lost in Philly. A Model 700, had it dialed in just right. Rock steady, shot flatter than a sheet of paper on a chessboard, perfect weight." He sighed heavily. "I had to make a split second decision to save either my rifle or my partner. And, great altruist that I am, I chose to save my partner. And neither of them ended up leaving Philly intact," he finished bitterly.

"I'm sure your partner's more or less OK. After all, how bad could staying with Mennonites be?"

Ryckmen gave Gregory a pitying look. "Mennonites aren't Quakers. And some of those guys have gotten decidedly mean in the post-apocalypse."

Gregory opened his mouth to reply, but found himself drowned out by the sound of an explosion coming from the third floor, right at the corner of G Street and 11th. Ryckmen looked up, seeing the damage and whistling softly. "The girl likes her demo," he murmured. "Come on."

The two agents made their way to the loading dock, seeing a few Hyenas milling around, furtively looking for potential threats and completely missing their approach. "Ready?" said Ryckmen softly.

"Right side is all yours," replied Gregory, shouldering his weapon and setting the fire selector to full auto.

"Drop'em."

The staccato bursts from Gregory's P416 covered the sound of Ryckmen's semi-auto rounds as the two men dropped the Hyenas in less than five seconds. They moved quickly over to the loading dock and through a pair of double doors leading into the hotel's basement. A strong scent of detergent, fabric softener, and bleach hit Gregory as Ryckmen took point. "Must be coming up on the hotel laundry," muttered Gregory, his eyes beginning to water as another scent began to work its way into his nose. "And apparently a meth lab."

"Not meth, but probably something that's not good for the body." Ryckmen froze for a moment, then ducked down behind a laundry cart. "Hostiles ahead. Six of them."

Gregory crept over next to the doorway, then glanced over his shoulder. "Second doorway down the corridor," he said, his voice soft without whispering. "I'll slide over there, cover that and the corridor."

"Roger." Ryckmen held his eyes just over the edge of the laundry cart, waiting for Gregory to get into position, then slipped a grenade off his vest and pulled the pin while holding the spoon down. Judging the distance from his cover to a laundry table covered with improvised chemistry gear, Ryckmen growled softly, "Grenade out," let the spoon pop off, then a second later threw the grenade. It skittered over the table and came to rest next to a stand holding a water carafe re-purposed as a flask. The sound of the grenade moving against the table caught the attention of the Hyenas in the room, all of their heads turning towards the table right as the grenade went off. Shrapnel and ignited chemicals reached out, killing three of the Hyenas and wounding the others. Ryckmen and Gregory quickly brought their weapons to bear and fired, killing the survivors.

Ryckmen kept behind the laundry cart, muzzle pointed towards the washing machines. "Let's give that crap a minute or two to burn off. Shouldn't take long."

"What about the fire alarms?" asked Gregory. "Won't they go off and alert the others?"

"I'm guessing these guys probably killed the fire alarms so they could cook in peace." Ryckmen looked through the smoke and grunted. "Yeah. They shot the alarms off. Bullet holes up towards the ceiling. Bad business, really. Not a whole lot of americium in smoke alarms, but I wouldn't want to take the chance."

"Given what they're cooking, I don't imagine they're thinking terribly straight."

After a few minutes, the flames burned out and the two agents continued through the laundry, then made their way upstairs through an office center before reaching the back of the front desk. "Kelso," murmured Gregory. "We're in. Where are you?"

"Working my way upstairs. Bunch of Hyenas started heading up when I set off that little distraction. Think they might be going to make sure Eleanor is secured."

Ryckmen covered the lobby with his rifle. "Kelso, who's the local boss in this rathole?"

"Guy named Saint."

"Weightlifter sort of guy?" he asked, looking through the scope at a tall and heavily muscled man moving in what looked like improvised body armor.

"Yeah. Definitely a roid rager, among other things. Why?"

"He's moving towards the elevators. Wait one." Ryckmen watched Saint enter the elevator, then saw the indicator light moving over to the last point on the right. "What's on the top floor of this place?"

"The Sakura Patio & Lounge," murmured Gregory. "Sign between the elevators."

"Good catch."

"I take it you have backup with you, Gregory?" asked Kelso.

"Yeah. Tactical guy. Long story. Shall we link up at the top?"

"Sounds good. I'll try and keep these jokers occupied while you make your way up. Stack'em up, boys. Out."

"You heard the lady, Lowell," said Gregory softly as he took up a position behind the front counter. "Stack'em up."

* * *

Kelso glanced behind her as she heard movement, hand on her sidearm. Two men came up the short set of stairs from the maintenance area. One of them was a reasonably fit looking black man in bottom-of-the-barrel gear, a shabby and well used P416 in his hands. The other looked rail thin and quietly vicious, his windburned complexion and sharp features suggesting a lifetime of hard living, an Urban MDR battle rifle held low against his hip. There was something about the second man that jabbed at Kelso's memory. A picture, perhaps, she'd seen somewhere once before. "Glad you two could make it. Which one of you is Gregory?"

"That'd be me," said the black man, extending his hand. "This is Lowell Ryckmen, Tactical Branch. He's an unexpected addition to the force balance around here."

"The Big Bad Wolf," whispered Kelso as the name registered on her.

Gregory arched an eyebrow. "Come again?" he asked as Ryckmen smiled thinly at Kelso.

"You're Analytics, so you wouldn't have necessarily known." Kelso tilted her head, aiming her chin at Ryckmen. "This guy holds the distinction as the only person to make perfect scores in the hundred meter and five hundred meter distance shooting courses, and holds the highest score on the thousand meter course. The instructors at the Ranch called him 'The Big Bad Wolf' because he'd huff and he'd puff and he'd blow your brains out from so far away you'd never see him."

"Seems a little silly when you say it like that," Ryckmen grinned.

"If we ever needed big guns, now's the time. You guys good on ammo?" The two men nodded and Kelso returned the nod in acknowledgment. "Right now, we're behind the elevators. Ryckmen, I'll let you find a good spot to get comfy. Gregory, cover his flanks. There's a small foot bridge leading over to one of the verandas over on the left, definitely useful as a funnel. I'll cover the right side. Sing out when you see Saint."

Ryckmen checked the chamber on his rifle, then crept forward, moving up along the left side of the elevator housing. As he approached, he caught sight of an elevated platform and quietly hopped up, ducking down behind a waist high plate of steel. Gregory held back behind the curve of the elevator housing, covering the foot bridge, ready to drop back behind a nearby planter when the bullets started flying his way.

"Ryckmen, call the shot."

Scanning for targets, Ryckmen began to recite an old nursery rhyme, creating a mnemonic for the order of target engagement, then keyed his mic. "Gregory, I want you to toss a grenade over the bridge. There's a planter about three meters past it, couple of targets close by. If you get them, cool. If not, don't worry about them. Just be ready to start shooting when they come up."

"Roger." He pulled the grenade from his belt, hating that he was effectively throwing blind, then pulled the pin and tossed it.

The grenade landed behind the planter and between the feet of two unsuspecting Hyenas. They turned, trying to escape the blast and failing as the explosion shredded them both. Heads swung over, the surprise holding the other Hyenas still as Ryckmen popped up and began servicing targets, the crack of his rifle lost to the semi-deafened Hyenas. Kelso added her fire to the mix, her own battle rifle a slightly different note in the abrupt symphony of violence. Inside of twenty seconds, the Hyenas in the courtyard were wiped out, just as reinforcements poured out of different office and storage areas. Gregory covered the foot bridge, popping up from behind the planter to hit oncoming Hyenas as they attempted to storm the bridge or move around underneath it.

"Eyes on Saint," Ryckmen said calmly between shots. "Gregory, move up under the bridge. There's a planter that should provide you some cover."

Gregory moved up and slid behind the cover, bringing his weapon to battery and locking his eyes on Saint. The Hyena lieutenant still had on the body armor he'd been wearing downstairs, and it looked like somebody had strapped an ammo can on the back to help belt-feed rounds into the SAW he carried slung low on his hip. Gregory tightened his grip and let off a five round burst into Saint, incredulous as the Hyena didn't even seem to notice. "What the hell's he using for armor?"

"Don't know, but we need to break through it. Pour it on, boys!" cried Kelso as she kept the red dot of her scope on Saint's center of mass and fired round after round into him. Ryckmen didn't respond, but fired on the remaining Hyenas, killing them one by one or keeping them pinned in place.

Pulling his remaining grenade out, Gregory pulled the pin and let the spoon fly off, cooking the explosive for just a second before tossing it with a cry of "Grenade out!" Saint didn't hear Gregory's warning, his ears too hammered from the sound of the SAW as he tried to keep both Kelso and Ryckmen pinned down. The explosion went off behind him, cooking off the ammo can and knocking him to his knees. Miraculously, the Hyena lieutenant survived the explosion, though the rear of armor had been torn apart and his helmet had been knocked off. As he tried to get up, Ryckmen fired, putting a 7.62 round neatly between his eyes.

Dead silence filled the Sakura Patio & Lounge. Gregory felt his blood pounding through him, yet he didn't hear anything for a full minute, not even the sound of his own breathing.

"All clear," called out Ryckmen as he stood up. The three agents moved over to Saint's corpse and looked down at it for a moment. Gregory crouched down, examining the body armor more closely. A number of evenly placed rectangular bumps studded the armor. "Looks like they used duct tape over standard riot gear," he murmured, probing the armor with a finger before pulling out a pocket knife.

"Why does it not surprise me that you have a Swiss Army knife?" asked Ryckmen rhetorically.

Gregory ignored the question and cut away some of the duct tape around one of the many bumps, putting one of them into his hand. "Jury rigged composite. Looks like they cut up Lexan riot shields, then sandwiched the Lexan between steel door hinges with the pins removed, and epoxied it all together. They even cut a small channel along the Lexan to give the epoxy something to hold on to." He looked up at Ryckmen. "Bulky, crude, but pretty damn effective. Certainly better than going around in just a wife beater."

"Nobody ever promised the bad guys would lack for imagination," said Ryckmen soothingly. "And we have a better idea of what we can expect going down the road."

Nodding, Gregory got up and went over to Kelso as she fiddled with a locked door, the only one still closed in the entire patio area. She finally got the door open and went inside. A young black woman lay on a sleeping bag, her wrists bruised beneath a pair of police issue handcuffs, her eyes wide with terror. Kelso knelt down, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"Eleanor," she said softly, "your mom sent us to come find you. Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Eleanor replied shakily. "Who are you guys?" Her eyes shifted as Ryckmen came over. "Lowell?" she asked incredulously. "What's going on?"

"Long story, kiddo. But we'll tell you everything once we get you back to your mom."

"She seems a little shocky," said Kelso quietly. "Give me a few minutes. Meanwhile, you guys go make sure the lobby's nice and clear for exfil."

"Sounds good. Come on, Peace," Ryckmen said, lightly punching Gregory's shoulder. "Let's police the area for ammo, then go secure the lobby." Gregory nodded and began stripping the nearest discarded weapon for ammunition.