Rebel Heart

Planey appeared surprised. He held out his arm towards a closed door leading to another corridor.

"Your communiqué indicated you needed chocolate," he said as they walked. "One of our chefs has been working to make some since the message came in."

Brady smiled, amused that Angel remembered his affinity for chocolate.

"How did we get in here?" one of his men asked.

"A friend," Brady replied.

"Your communiqué came directly from the Vice President's staff," Planey stated, giving him a long look.

While he shouldn't have been surprised to find Angel in such a position, Brady was still impressed.

"You'll have to stay for an hour to await the chocolate," Planey continued. "We have uniforms and … showers for you in the meantime."

Brady checked the time and calculated how long it would take to reach the rendezvous point. With the hour, he may know the condition of his team member.

"We'll stay for the chocolate," he decided. "I'd like to take enough supplies for our other team as well."

Planey led them to the barracks. After a quick shower, Brady dressed in a new protective suit. He replaced his weapons and pulled on new boots, pausing when the net beeped, indicating someone was trying to contact him. He tapped the subcutaneous button before returning to his boots.

"Major Hanson?" a man's voice asked.

"Yes."

"This is Lieutenant George with the intel unit assigned to your command."

"Find anything?"

"Well, yes, in a sense," the lieutenant said, an odd note in his voice. "You'll soon receive orders to report to a set of coords with the box. The feds want it back now."

"I have a real mission to execute hunting down insurgents. Can't it wait?"

"I don't think so. I don't know what that thing is, but I would say not to lose it. They went crazy when I read them the serial. Can you reconfirm?"

Brady stretched a muscular arm across the table beside him to tug the box out of his other uniform. He opened it and looked at the small black keypad a quarter the size of his palm. It appeared harmless despite the biohazard warnings. If it was an actual hazard, the sensors built into his uniform would have warned him. He read the numbers aloud again.

"It's the same," the lieutenant said. "I'll have the command submit your new orders."

"They can send someone else," Brady replied. "I'm not going to deal with the slimy feds when I can kill bad guys."