This is Chapter Five in the Traitor Series. Haven’t read Chapter Four yet? Check it out by clicking here. Reading The Traitor for the first time? Start from the beginning here.
Enjoy Chapter Five!
Puerto Rico, about a week ago…
The man cut the last link of chain and then pushed the links at the border of the hole a little apart to make the hole as big as it could possibly be. He did so very slowly and made almost no noise. The grounds were completely silent, apart from the deep grumbles of the engines of a couple of army jeeps in the distance. His forehead and neck glistened with sweat. He kept wiping it off with his glove-enclosed hand and as a result the glove was dripping wet by now. He kept blinking rapidly, partly because of the insects in the air but mostly out of nervousness.
He clutched his long rifle in both his hands as he stealthily walked through the chain and pushed his back to a large shipping container just as a mechanic came into view after fixing a circuit board near the large water tank in the south-east corner of the grounds.
The man with the gun signaled to the rest of his small army and they started jogging over to the container in the same way he had. All of their rifles glimmered in the light given off by the tall, powerful lamp a dozen containers away.
The mechanic got onto a bike and rode off, and almost immediately, the small platoon resumed their muted jog until they came to a huge building with multiple floors and lots of white tent-like structures around it. The building had two tall chimneys at the far end which were coughing up white smoke. The grounds were also for the most part covered in a foggy cover of white smoke. The troop squatted behind two small, deserted cabins and looked at their leader, who signaled them to look at the door of the structure, one that pointed right at them. When they looked at it closely, they found that it was latched and the only way the occupants were coming out, was from a door on the opposite side of the building. He then pointed at a big tent on the other side of this big building; its lights were out. The leader counted down from three to one and then the whole platoon began sprinting to the tent in a linear formation and the last soldier looked out for any surprises from the back.
As the troop sprinted to their next shield from the control building, Mr. Jacobsen settled down in his seat on the third floor of the control building, a seat that had a clear view, through the window in front of him, of the entire north-eastern part of the facility. He had a long look out the window, then one at his computer screen and then had a long sip from the cup of coffee that sat on his desk. Suddenly his eyes drifted to a part of the screen that housed the feeds from the nine security cameras on the borders of the premises, a part that was flashing yellow. He clicked on it and he realised it was flashing because the feeds from cameras four and five were blacked.
A checkup by a security guard would reveal that the cameras had been shot and ten seconds after that the alarm would go off and red lights would flash in all rooms in the facility and gunfire would erupt near a white dome-like structure near the control building. Fourteen minutes and thirty seven seconds later, the armed soldiers that guarded the facility would have shot all the members of the brigade and the Squadron Commander would be forced to come out, hands above his head, and be taken into custody by the soldiers. A call would then be made to the CIA Headquarters by a female official, obviously shaken up, saying: “This… this is the Puerto Rico Nuclear Facility. We’ve had an attack.”
