Fixer camp description 1

That was his only comment from the moment they met him until he dropped them off at a checkpoint in the middle of nowhere, deep in Stevens County. The checkpoint was manned by two men dressed in military-style forest-pattern camo uniforms. The drive had taken more than three hours, and from the route, it was clear the driver was deliberately changing roads and even backtracking. Wary of surveillance.

At the gate, both guards wore masks that covered their features, and carried Sig Sauer MCX Rattler assault weapons.

The gate was set in a forest clearing and was the only part of the fence that was easily visible. From what they could see, the fence was high and wrapped in razor wire. A road led from the checkpoint, and it curved out of sight within a dozen yards. No other buildings were visible from where they stood.

Top and Bunny were asked to get out of the car, show their IDs, and to log in to a terminal using thumbprints and retina scans. This didn’t bother either of them, because Bug and MindReader had long since gamed the system. Their false identities were unbreakable, and all traces of who they had been were long since erased entirely from hospital, school, military, and other databases. The tapeworm search-and-destroy programs Bug wrote were hungry and thorough.

...

While they waited, Top and Bunny glanced briefly around. The camp looked rustic, but their security was not. The guards wore a slightly different uniform from the ones they’d seen in Texas. Camo with a slightly darker color scheme, appropriate for the denser woodlands here in Washington State. No insignias except for small blue diamond-shaped patches on the shoulders. The cut was better, suggesting individual tailoring rather than off the rack, and these men had sharper eyes and unsmiling mouths. Observant professionals. And yet Top’s tomfoolery with the scanner had tricked them. That suggested a bit of arrogance over the professionalism. Top and Bunny both thought it was useful to know.

Colonel Ledger had a theory about that. Or, perhaps, an observation. He called it the “arrogance of power”—when the strong and abusive assume the weaker potential prey were inarguably easy targets because they were weaker. It was the assumption used by so many rapists, child abusers, muggers, and similar predatory monsters. Gangs often made the same assumptions. And, in the absence of training, natural or acquired confidence, or preparedness, they were often right. But—just as the larger male lions learn to their peril when trying to bully the lionesses with cubs—underestimation can backfire quickly.

It also led to habits of inattention, and that’s what Top and Bunny both hoped would be at work here. This was, after all, an elite camp. Lots of testosterone, lots of predators thinking with their biceps, sidearms, and contempt.

Bunny caught Top’s eye, and they shared a tiny, knowing smile.

A golf cart came whisking silently up, and they climbed into the back. The driver was every bit as chatty as a potted plant. As soon as they were seated, he set off along the road. They made sure to look around at everything, partly to collect intel for themselves and partly to make sure the tiny body cams they wore picked up useful data for Bug.

As they drove, Scott Wilson began speaking quietly in their ears, his voice as clear as if he were in the cart with them rather than on an island six thousand miles away.

“This is rather exciting,” said Wilson. “We had no idea this camp even existed. None of the Fixers we, ah, interviewed ever mentioned or even hinted about it. Be aware, lads, that it will take a bit of time to arrange for drone flyovers, so try not to get into trouble.”

...

The path through the woods was not long but was made up of deliberate switchbacks so that screens of old-growth trees foiled any chance of visual surveillance from the ground. The dense canopy of pine needles hid the road from the air. Smart and effective. A camp like this couldn’t be found by accident or even through normal flyover surveillance. You had to know it was there.

Their silent driver passed through another checkpoint with an even sturdier gate and then entered a compound made up of many small one-story buildings draped with camouflage netting. Even the outside areas used for drills were under a canopy. No smoke from cooking fires or heaters, which meant they probably used electric or propane. And, as they got out of the cart, they saw a row of industrial generators chugging away.

-Relentless pg. 202-205, Kindle Edition.