That was a scary thought. If he was captured, he was as vulnerable as anyone, especially if his captors knew about the XH. Someone could torture him, and the XH would try to heal him even if it killed him to do it.

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, but it was still fuzzy. That couldn’t be the whole downside. That was like saying a revolutionary super-tank got bad gas mileage. The tradeoff was obviously worth it, if it ruled the battlefield.

Suddenly, Daniel felt exhausted. He had to get some sleep. He never used to sleep this much. Maybe that was part of the XH too. Might as well store it up while he could. He said good night and turned in.

-10-

The next day dawned cold, with a few flakes of snow and a sharp wind. Daniel popped out of bed while the other three were still stacking zees, ate some toast and jam to still the growling and went for a run. His nose and ears burned red with the cold by the time he came back but he felt like a million bucks, better than he’d ever felt in his life. He made breakfast for everyone, ate and drank his fill, which meant he consumed as much as all of the rest put together. He wondered if this state of affairs was going to continue. It seemed like if the XH put his body into peak condition, he should actually be eating less, using everything more efficiently.

They really, really needed to get Elise, to find some answers.

Washing the breakfast dishes, he heard a vehicle approaching. The white stuff was coming down lightly and Spooky slipped out the back, dressed in winter camo.

Zeke and Daniel grabbed assault rifles while Vinny looked worried and went to the window. Zeke came up beside him and looked out too. He put a hand on Vinny’s shoulder and said, “Relax. It’s my guys.”

It was a big black Suburban – no, Daniel saw it was actually an Escalade, with gold trim and those spinning hubcap things, blacked-out windows, running boards, fender flares, and other geegaws and add-ons that he couldn’t name. It blasted a multi-tone horn as it pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, and a big black man in a fancy track suit got out of the driver’s seat. He looked to be about three hundred pounds, fat but fit, like a football lineman. He was in his thirties, with gold chains and a short but expensive haircut, some kind of logo shaved into his hair.

“Larry!” cried Zeke, wrapping him up in a bear hug.

“Come on, man, it’s ‘Lawrence.’ How many times I gotta tell you?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” Zeke grinned.

Daniel didn’t think he’d forgotten. Must be some kind of inside joke. He nodded to Lawrence, then held out his hand as the man approached.

“Hi Lawrence. Daniel Markis. Call me DJ. I was a PJ.” It was an old joke, DJ the PJ.

“Air Force? Aim High, baby. Call me Larry, Larry Nightingale,” he said, with a smile full of gold and white teeth. He squeezed Daniel’s hand, just to see what he was made of, he guessed.

Daniel returned the grip effortlessly. “Okay, Larry.”

Larry’s eyes went wide, and he grinned even wider. The XH had restored Daniel’s strength, and more.

“Larry was my engineering and demo guy before he decided to chase the green,” Zeke said, mock-disapproving.

“Hey, E-6 pay wasn’t squat compared to what I make now. Dolla dolla bill, y’all. And I expect to get paid now too. Honeys give it up for the bling.” He made some kind of urban hand sign, laughing with those golden teeth showing again.

Daniel thought the man was caricaturing himself, but one never knew. The urban gangsta shtick was so ubiquitous now that it was hard to tell what was real and what was just image. Culture was a funny thing.

The passenger door opened and another man stepped out, tall and thin, with a shaved head and deep-set black eyes in a narrow face. Late thirties, very fit. Skin and bones and wiry muscles, and a trace of Native American in his background for sure. He looked like an undertaker stuffed into tactical pants and polypropylene, and he peered distastefully at the thinning flakes falling from the sky, waving a hand as if to shoo them away. He had a Patek timepiece on his wrist that probably cost more than the Escalade, pure functionality and understated elegance.

“Skull!” Zeke cried, seizing the man’s hand enthusiastically.

Skull looked pleased, but his smile stayed tight and reserved. “I’m here, Zeke. Hey, DJ.” He nodded at Daniel, Daniel nodded back.

Daniel and Alan “Skull” Denham were acquainted. He had been a Marine sniper, a very closemouthed guy. They’d only met a couple of times, through Zeke, and didn’t really hit it off. Daniel never got the full story of how Skull ended up working with Zeke, and had the feeling he always looked down on anyone that wasn’t a jarhead, hiding it well but not well enough. Still, they were all Zeke’s guys, and if Zeke vouched for someone, that was good enough.

“Where’s Denny?” Zeke asked.

Larry’s smile faded and he dropped his eyes. “Denicio? Couldn’t make it. Got a woman and he’s whipped.”

Zeke shrugged, playing it off. He was hurt, but didn’t want to show it. “He never could say no to a skirt,” he said, sighing.

“Said he’d try to get away, but you know him…”

“Forget it. This one needs to be rock-solid, no weak spots. Let’s go inside.”

They got the Escalade into the barn. Daniel noticed it rode heavy. Probably armored. It was getting crowded in there. They had a whole motor pool.

Inside, they made some coffee and heated up a pie from a box. Daniel slipped another one in the oven when Zeke wasn’t looking. At this rate they were going to have to make a grocery run soon.

Seated around the dining room table, they briefed the two recent arrivals. It took the rest of the morning, what with the questions and disbelieving looks. Daniel had to do his healing thing again. He let Skull stab him with a fork this time, just to make sure they knew it wasn’t a trick. He wasn’t ready to get shot just yet. Once they’d settled that, they started brainstorming the operation.

Daniel began, “We have to assume Elise is locked up on the island. They know she wants to run, and she’s a test subject too, so it makes sense. That means one, probably two shooters to keep an eye on her and the others at all times. Two or three shifts, but they can’t keep more than two guys in prison-guard mode all the time.”

“They could have a jail cell,” Spooky said.

“Yeah, that would make it easier for them, but that’s good for us too. Fewer shooters means fewer problems,” Zeke said.

“Do you think the researchers stay there or go home at night?” Daniel asked.

Zeke replied, “If it was me, I’d keep to a normal schedule. Ten miles by boat or helo – probably boat, much lower profile – makes for an easy commute. Thirty minutes each way or so. Probably have facilities to stay overnight, though, if they need to or want to. So we figure Miss Wallis, one or two guards, maybe a scientist.”

“Recon?” This from Skull.

Vinny replied, “Yeah. I’ll find some more recent overhead imagery. That right there is three months old. I need to buy a drone if you want really good stuff from up close.”

“No drones for now.”

Vinny looked disappointed. He obviously liked the toys.

“No need to get that fancy, and it might draw attention. We just need a fishing boat.”

“Pleasure fishing in February? In the Chesapeake?” Daniel asked.

“Crap,” replied Zeke, rubbing his bearded chin. “How do we get close?”

“A boat is fine,” Daniel said, “but we’ll have to just do a few slow passes on the way to and from Tangier Island.” He pointed to the map.

Tangier Island was a fishing and tourist destination, with quaint bed and breakfast places, crab shacks and fancier seafood restaurants, and its own marinas and an airport. Anyone leaving from the mainland near Onancock would naturally pass by Watts Island on the way to it.