“We use one for a jail,” Anse said.
“I received intel on the way in,” I said.
Jagger slid his eyes to me and away.
“The riders are stepping up their activities. This isn’t the first kidnapping and hostage exchange to get what they want. They’re getting ready to do something big,” I said. “The commander of the Charlotte, North Carolina Military Base knows it. Knows the riders are former military, retired or booted out. But they have a big following inside and a strong approval rating from among the enlisted. The commander has had ears to the ground for a long time. He’s got a loyal crew of Rangers ready to go at a moment’s notice, but they haven’t found the rider’s base.
“We, however, know one thing they don’t. We know exactly what kind of truck they’re using to transfer the bikes and riders. And where it dropped them off three days ago.”
Jagger didn’t react physically, but I felt his surprise through the nanobots. Spy raced in from the workout room, her thoughts reaching for me. She leaped to the table and sped to me, then to Jagger, and whirled to face Anse and his wife, hissing.Invaders. Dangerous,she thought, saying, “Mrow. Siss.”
“It’s okay, Spy,” Jagger said, sounding placid, but not feeling that through our bond. “Spy is our guard cat,” he said to the couple who looked befuddled.
She hissed again but sat, allowing Jagger to swipe his hand down her spine. Once. When he reached to do it a second time, the gray cat turned her head and glared at him, showing teeth.
Jagger stopped.
“Where are they?” Devil Anse asked.
I didn’t know the answer to that, but I shared what I did know. “They were brought in on three-meter-tall box trucks.Unmarked, dirty beige, slightly rusted, but remarkably well running. They had help from locals and, most importantly, they had transportation needs—places to refuel—and that isn’t easy, not like it was before the war.”
Jagger scrubbed a big fist across his chin, thinking, his one-day beard rasping beneath his hand, “Locals would hoard their fuels. Bikes and trucks would need to find alternate refueling stations ahead of time. Or know where they’re already located. Military had places like that all over during the war.”
I shifted my attention to Anse. “Hatfield,” I said, “your people worked with the military in the war. Where did they refuel?”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s a privately owned supply depot for the county’s mines. Military took it over during the war. It’s defunct now. Except . . .” He tapped his morphon and snapped it off his arm onto the table. On the screen above the bar, he was scanning through hand written records. “Except last summer, the old owners asked for a new business permit. It’s got a functional pump and a good amount of storage for bulk fuel.” He frowned hard and tapped some more. “Beckett set it up and encouraged me to approve the business license.
“The property is listed as a residential plot, grandfathered in, which I never cared about. Not these days. But there’s still not a business name attached to the property. There’s a warren of streets and houses and businesses behind the station, though last I checked they hadn’t been attached to the refueling station.” A picture of the business appeared on the screen. “No sign, which wasn’t uncommon before or during the war. Small town. People just knew where things were.”
He showed us the location on his map.
The property had a wide dirt area large enough to turn an eighteen-wheeler around. Or a midsized battle tank. Mid-centerof the entrance turnaround was an unwalled bare-bones pump house like something out of the early nineteen hundreds.
The building on the left had a repair space behind two bay doors large enough to accommodate most trucks carrying containers, and a smaller area in front with windows and a door built for humans, like an office. To the right were large dark gray-blue tanks, some three stories tall, some a couple meters shorter, some half that height and half their diameter. All were unmarked from the street. A walled, windowless building in back might have been a control room for pumps.
There were two low-roofed houses in back, though whether they were part of the storage and pumping station was unknown.
“What’s in the tanks?” Jagger asked, indicating the gray-blue storage tanks on the right.
“Various hydrocarbons.” Devil Anse sounded distracted, his fingers swiping and tapping through files I couldn’t read fast enough to follow. He said, “Pre-war it was transmission fluids, gear oil, motor oil, like that, plus diesel and gasoline. Brought in with big tankers and distributed in barrels, bottles, or bulk transport trucks to the different mine sites around the area. The Four County Mine used it. National Guard and Army used it. And the Wildcats Militia. When they petitioned to reopen, I was glad. Sign of change. Sign of growth.” He frowned and said, “You think that’s where they have my girl?”
I thought she was long gone into the sex trade, but I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “Mina and Jacopo will put up a small drone. See if they can spot any transport trucks, look for bikes, look for military types hanging around. If my people see something, and if they can, I’ll get their trucks tagged so we can track them later.”
From his corner, Jacopo said, “Can do.”
“I want our people and my cats nosing around that area.” At his expression, I hid a smile and said, “The cats are good at tracking. Humans can find out if someone is housing short-term boarders. How many. Find out anything they can.”
“One last thing you should know,” Anse said. “The Freewill Baptist Church, the meeting place for the exchange? It’s where Mud Fork Road becomes Mount Gay Road. A block up the street from the refueling station.”
“They can’t be that stupid,” Jagger said.
“Fortunately for us, they think we’re that stupid,” I said. “They’ve gotten away scot-free all but twice, when they attacked Smith’s and when they attacked Hatfield’s. Their people died both times, and they didn’t end up getting whatever they wanted. And they don’t know we’ve joined forces. They’re well supplied and well trained. They’re cocky. We’ll use that against them.”
The Hatfields didn’t look convinced, but their world had crumbled, and they had a possible traitor in their midst.
“Once we have recon intel, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. And I outlined the plan I’d been mulling over since I sat down at the table.
When we were done, I privately tapped Mina and Jacopo on comms and gave them orders.
