Page 87 of The Session

“The power station. We’re leaving in three minutes.”

Mark grabbed his gear bag. “Then I go with you. Every moment counts. I don’t want to wait for anybody to show up at the hospital.”

“I can’t do that. This is a hostile situation. Just go to the hospital near Delacroix and wait,” Burton told him.

“Fuck that. You’re gonna have one more hostile right here if you don’t let me go with you,” Mark said as he grabbed his helmet and bulletproof vest.

“Fine. I don’t have time for this bullshit. They can fire my ass later,” Burton muttered.

Mark had suspected that although he was treated like everyone else—albeit the one with the least combat experience—there were probably special instructions to not put him into known hostile situations. Being in the second vehicle from the back of the convoy was the safest position. He noticed that while others rotated vehicles, Mark was always kept there, next to Norm, one of their most seasoned team members.

Both Kade and Norm had taken it upon themselves to make sure that Mark was qualified with a firearm, but only a 9mm pistol—not one of the powerful rifles they carried. Mark suspected he’d be more of a threat to himself or them than any hostile, and he didn’t object.

When he stepped outside, three armored Toyota Land Cruisers were ready to go, with team members climbing inside. They were wearing more conspicuous body armor and had their helmets in place. This wasn’t going to be a low-profile escort. It was an armed rescue mission.

Kade spotted Mark and pointed him toward the rear vehicle. “Glad you could make it, Bookmark. Buckle up.”

Mark climbed inside, and the driver—a former Marine from Nebraska code-named Muskrat—put the truck into gear, flipped on the blue flashing light, and followed the others out of the compound.

As they raced down the darkened streets, Burton’s voice came over the secure comm channel.

“I’ve notified Ratatouille that we are inbound. ETA twenty-three minutes,” Burton reported.

Ratatouille was the nickname for the local police captain, Renard.

“What’s the situation?” Mark asked.

“Blackjack, Frogger, and Raccoon were doing a security detail at the power plant,” Kade told him. “We lost contact with them thirty minutes ago. Surveillance picked up the sound of gunfire from that direction. We think they may have been ambushed. A diesel shipment was brought to the facility earlier today, and Raccoon reported some scouts.”

“Who’s the gang leader there?” Mark asked.

“It was Big Seville, but he got killed four days ago in a shoot-out. We think his brother Little Seville is in charge now. He’s also who we think killed Big Seville.”

“The older guys just want to drive around in their Mercedes, go to the club, flirt with the girls they’re too tired for, then go home early. It’s the younger ones you gotta watch out for. They all think they’re El Chapo,” Norm explained.

“And the younger guys are getting worse. All they understand is chaos. At least their older brothers and dads remember when this place was kind of sane for a hot minute,” Kade added.

“There’s a roadblock two intersections ahead of us. We’re going westbound and will work our way around it,” Burton reported over the radio.

“We should have brought a dump truck for the barriers,” Kade said.

“We should have helicopter support,” Burton added.

“As if, on this budget?” Kade snorted.

Mark still couldn’t understand how they maintained their cool in a situation like this. From the moment every convoy left to an hour after it came back, he still felt adrenaline coursing through his veins. He assumed it would diminish over time, but it hadn’t yet.

“Ratatouille says he’s been ordered to tell us to stand down. Surveillance hasn’t spotted any deployments on their end. So, fuck it,” Burton said.

“You know you’re not getting paid for this,” Kade told Mark.

Their convoy continued to race down the pothole-ridden streets, passing patches of light and dark. Occasionally, Muskrat or Sensei, the lead driver, would honk the horn, warning anybody ahead of them to get out of the way.

“We’re ten minutes out. Sirens off,” Burton ordered. “Alpha team is going to approach the front of the facility. I want Beta to hold back and Gamma to go over to Maison Hill and take an overlook position.”

Mark looked at the digital map on the iPad Kade was holding.

The power station was composed of four rectangular purple buildings, with ductwork running to a rust-colored structure at one end and a tall fuel cylinder at the other. A fence ran around the entire facility, separating it from an industrial park to the north and a field with a hill to the east. Inside the compound, the satellite image showed rows of concrete pillars laid out on the ground and orderly groups of utility trucks.