Author's note: - This is a follow on to the previous chapter of Becca XXX Hard Time. Please read it before reading this or you will not understand the plot or characters
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Becca XXX. Hard Time. Ch 15.
Sometimes my dreams were so vivid that they felt like they were real. It was difficult to know if I was awake or asleep. It was like being in a trance, but I was consciously thinking about what I'd seen and heard since I'd met Charles Hamilton and arrived on his island. My subconscious was working overtime to figure out what the hell was going on here. Certain words were echoing around my head like a ringing bell, over and over.
'American terrorists... The Patriots... The Generals... Hamilton... Missiles.'
Initially, it felt like my mind was trying to get an overview of what was happening, but it needed to dig deeper. My thoughts became more focused.
'The Patriots... Four men... Whitehouse... Pentagon... Capitol... Liberty... Code names... American landmarks.'
There was a clue here - I was sure of it. The four terrorists didn't want to use their real names for obvious reasons, but I couldn't help thinking that they'd selected American landmarks as their code names for a reason. The Whitehouse, The Pentagon, The Capitol Building and The Statue of Liberty were all viable targets if they wanted to make a statement. Even if they managed to launch just one missile at those landmarks, the message would be very loud and very clear. It would show the world that the great superpower of the United States wasn't as secure as they made out.
If my theory was correct, it explained what they were going to do and how they were going to do it, but it didn't explain why. It wouldn't kill a huge number of people and it would certainly turn public opinion against The Patriots which made the whole exercise pointless. With Hamilton being involved there was no way he would supply these weapons unless he got something out of it. I had no idea what was in the silver briefcase, but that felt more like a token gesture rather than the real payment. Hamilton wanted The Patriots to attack those landmarks with his weapons for a reason, so I kept my eyes closed and went over what I'd seen last night in the warehouse.
'Stinger missiles... Strela missiles... Russian missiles... Russian missiles... Russian Missiles.'
My eyes snapped open and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
"Holy shit," I murmured. "They can't be; can they?"
I thought back to what Whitehouse had said after he'd fucked me. He'd mentioned that the US had become a soft touch and that it needed a wake up call to make America great again. Launching missiles at key American landmarks would certainly make a statement, but it would be a one shot deal and it would be short-lived. I then thought about why they would be buying Russian Strelas instead of American Stingers and the answer became glaringly obvious. This wasn't about The Patriots argument with their government, it was about making it look like someone else had attacked America.
After the attack, an immediate investigation would take place to find out who had carried it out. One of their first ports of call would be to analyse the remains of the missiles to find out what had been used for such an atrocity.
If they did that - what would they find?
Russian weaponry.
Russian weaponry used on American soil.
Everything would point to a Russian attack rather than home grown terrorists. The implications didn't bear thinking about. If the yanks thought that Russia had attacked them, it could kick off World War Three.
I sat up in bed feeling sick.
Had I got this wrong?
Had I added two and two together and made six?
Was I being paranoid?
It was perfectly feasible that Charles would use The Patriots to do his dirty work, but why would The Generals want to start a war between America and Russia? That part didn't make any sense.
I didn't know the answer to that one, but I couldn't deny the facts. If The Patriots left this island with Russian weapons and attacked those targets, it wasn't going to end well for anybody. I needed help with this and the only person I remotely trusted was Sasha. She seemed to have the same morals as me, and she had certainly been shocked when she found out that her father was selling weapons to terrorists. If I told her who I really was, maybe she could help me to contact Lexa and we could warn the Americans of the incoming flight. I could also tell Lexa where I was and get a team in to give me some backup. They wanted Charles dead after all.
It was going to be a long shot, but at this stage, it looked like my only option. I just hoped that she wouldn't go running to daddy, telling him who I was and why I was there.
I kicked the thin bed sheet off to air my naked body. My night-time excursion had left me sweaty and sticky and I hadn't had a shower for fear of waking everyone up. It would have seemed strange for me to be showering at two in the morning so I'd just gone to bed.
The clock on the wall told me it was now eight and I'd only had six hours of restless sleep. Although I was exhausted, I couldn't waste any more time so I jumped out of bed and went into the bathroom. After a quick shower, I left my hair damp and put on a small amount of eye makeup. I needed to look the same as I had the day before, as though I was just going to enjoy another day on the beach.
I left the bathroom and walked back out into the bedroom to find Sasha waiting for me. She had literally just walked through the door as I appeared.
"Becca... great, you're awake," she said quietly, glancing down the corridor to make sure we were alone.
She seemed nervous, but excited, like a child who had a secret to tell.
"Morning Sasha, I'm glad you're here," I said, making no effort to cover my nakedness. "I need to talk to you about something."
"Great, because I need to talk to you too," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting on the edge of the bed.
She patted the mattress as an invite for me to join her so I sat next to her wondering what she was up to.
"I've not got long," she murmured. "Maurice is here and he's talking to daddy in his office. I thought I'd seize the opportunity before he comes back."
"Seize the opportunity for what?" I quizzed.
"The opportunity to borrow this," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial. It was identical to the one I'd seen Charles examining at the plane when The Patriots had arrived.
"Holy shit. You got into the silver case?" I gasped. "What the hell is it?"
She passed me the vial carefully and I held it up to the light. It was about the size of a lipstick and completely sealed apart from a rubber membrane over one end. Inside there was a translucent light-blue liquid.
"I don't know, but that case is full of them. There're at least fifty more like that."
"Shit. Is there any paperwork with them or something that might tell us what it is?"
"No, but there's a chemical symbol on the bottom of the vial," she pointed out. "I think it might be some sort of iron compound."
I turned the vial upside down and saw what she meant. The initials F.E. were etched onto the glass with a circle around them.
"Fe is the chemical symbol for iron," she said. "I remember it from school."
"It is, but not when it's written like that," I explained. "It should be a capital 'F' followed by a lowercase 'e'. This looks more like a company logo."
"Shit, you might be right," she replied. "What the hell does F.E. stand for. Do you think it's military?"
"It could be, but I'm sure I've seen those initials before, I just can't think where."
"Well, if it's military we better not drop it. It might be a nerve agent or a biological virus," she said, suddenly realising the seriousness of what we were holding.
She was right. Charles was an arms dealer and it would make sense that he'd trade missiles for chemical warfare. He'd already stolen nuclear waste for dirty bombs in the past so I wouldn't put anything past him.
"Was there anything else in the case?" I asked.
