Eldorado Game - Magic spins

A note to all those who read and (hopefully) enjoy this creative look at Siege; I had the afternoon to myself and decided to write something and this was that something. I've retconned the history of the games to make sense personally to myself--dates have been changed, but only slightly. I included current day events because I think it naturally creates tension between various team members, and I'll explore that at a later date if you determine this worthy of more.
Warm regards,
​
Hibanasan.
​
Logan Keller drove from Sacramento to Slab Creek in the densely forested Eldorado Wilderness of Northern California. Retired now from the military and the clandestine agencies of the United States, he is free to do as he pleases, living off a lucrative severance given to him and him alone when Team Rainbow was finally shutdown by the United States government under the Obama Administration. Even here, in the silence of the wilderness with only the babble of Slab Creek, Keller can still hear the angry shouts of senators at the many closed-door sessions of the various investigative panels convened in the aftermath of Las Vegas and Nowak.
Bitter memories exist even now, eight years later, despite Logan’s best efforts to counter them. Even the mere thought of a casino sent him into a manic spiral. In his nightmares, he can hear slot machines and bizarre elevator music, all the while he sees Gabriel taunting him. Over the years, he’d picked up several hobbies; carpentry, painting, writing, et cetera, but none of them had ever calmed him quite so much as fishing did. Paradoxically, he never kept what he caught; it wasn’t the end that interested him anymore, it was the means. Fishing required patience and determination, even in a body of water so heavily stocked and underfished like Slab Creek. From the spring thaw to the autumnal freeze, water bugs and insects clung to the top of the creek like a hazy fog mere inches from the trout below the surface.
Fishing in the remote wilderness brought Keller to a place of solace and afforded him some peace in an otherwise chaotic world. On the drive down, Keller reflected on the current events of the world as they were relayed over the airwaves via NPR; migrants tear gassed at the US/Mexico border, Russian warships firing on Ukrainian ships in the Baltics, and a total sum of Yemenis who’d been killed by weaponized starvation at the hands of the Saudis so large it was practically a meaningless statistic. The world, Keller reflected, was a dangerous place that played cruel tricks on good people. This place, however, was a world unto itself, apart from the world around, and here he had his peace.
As he passed the dam, he shut off the radio and cranked open the windows of his 95’ Ford F-150. He took the pass off the southern tip of the dam and followed a winding road several meters above the banks of the river. Slab Creek, Keller thought, reminded him of a fjord in miniature; steep slopes dropped straight into the water, no beach, no reprieve. He’d once had to throw a rope to a man whose kayak had capsized as the poor soul faced a swim of a few hundred yards in either direction. There were breaks in the slopes here and there, but they were far and few between; Keller knew of a couple, and after another ten minutes, he pulled off the road nearest one of those spots.
Keller threw the gear into park, depressed the pedal for the e-brake, and turned off the engine. He grabbed his SIG and tucked it into his hip holster and stepped out of the pickup. As he cracked open the locker in the bed of the truck to retrieve his fishing gear, he took a glance up through the tree canopies to see the overcast sky; rain wasn’t in the forecast, but then again, this was California. He just hoped to get a good few hours in before the rain ruined a good afternoon of fishing for him.
Trekking down the steep slope was no easy feat; Keller had to hack and slash his way through bushes and branches, watched for bugs or wild animals, and had to laboriously and strategically place his footing, lest he slip and fall, and die in the wilderness. At his secluded fishing spot, Keller swept away dead branches and fallen leaves with his boots, then dropped his backpack. He set his tackle box near the edge of the drop and rested the fishing pole nearby as he fixed himself a cup of coffee from the thermos.
His cell phone, which annoyingly still had service, though barely, chirped, and Keller glanced at the screen; a restricted caller. He watched the screen as the phone continued to ring and then finally the call was missed. Logan sighed and held down the power button until the phone shut off, and then went to work setting the line. In the blinking of an eye, two hours had passed, and Keller had nabbed two trout, the second of which, put up a big fight over its being captured, and evaded Logan’s best efforts to reel it in for twenty minutes. Eventually Logan had it, brought it up to the bank, took a rough estimation of length and weight, and then unhooked it and set it free back into Slab Creek.
A bolt of lightning exploded across the sky as Logan returned to his perch, and thunder followed immediately thereafter. It was akin to an explosion, and Logan looked up to the sky as the clouds broke. At first a drop and then a deluge. He pulled his cap on tightly and began to gather his things when he heard another thunder clap. He unzipped his backpack and tossed the thermos inside, and then froze; the thunder had a rhythmic repetition to it. The aural noise became clearer like a frequency first out of tune, and then attenuated to its proper fidelity; a helicopter. It sounded like a Blackhawk, and Keller stepped out to the ledge of the perch and looked east in the direction of the sound; the California National Guard sometimes ran training out in the boonies, but this helicopter sounded very low. Soon, the canyon was filled with the deafening chopping of the large helicopter, and Keller caught a glimpse of the aircraft as it banked down the canyon. A wall of spray was kicked off the surface of the river by the hurricanic gusts generated by the helicopter, and Keller raised his hand to shield his face as the helicopter passed overhead, just over the tree tops. It was headed for the dam.
Keller didn’t see the staple ‘US ARMY’ livery on the tail of the helicopter and his suspicions rose; the park service flew a couple, but they weren’t black, and the fire fighting variants were white and orange, but also, they were mostly Huey’s and not Blackhawks. Curiosity overcame Keller as he clambered back up the slope to the road. He dug his car keys from his pocket and jogged across the country backroad to the Ford. In the distance, he could hear the engine of the Blackhawk spooling down. Logan let down the tailgate, plunked the tackle box down in the bed with the rod in its protective casing, and then lastly tossed the backpack in before he closed the tailgate and plugged the key into the driver’s side door to unlock the truck. The tumblers in the lock clicked one after the other and Keller placed his fingers on the handle when he heard a man clear his throat behind him.
“Logan Keller?”
Logan froze; the man sounded like he was off to his six. He turned his head slightly and saw the man stood at the edge of the road from where he’d just come from. Impossible, he thought; he should have noticed him, but he didn’t.
“That depends on who’s asking,” Logan said.
“Uncle Sam,” The man replied.
Keller released the handle and now fully turned around to take in the man; he was military, there was no doubt about that in Logan’s mind. He wore Oakley patrol shades and sported a thick mustache and beard, wore a white t-shirt, and a plaid button up left unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up over his biceps. Baggy jeans, a thick nylon belt, and Oakley combat boots. Logan bet the man had a gun on him, the same as he did. Marines, Keller thought? No, the regulations were too loose with this one. Certainly not Army, either. His arrogance left only one branch in mind; Navy.
“What is a SEAL doing this far inland, I wonder?” Keller asked in his soft Texan drawl.
The man uncrossed his arms.
“How did you?” Logan heard him mutter under his breath. “Never mind that, I was sent to retrieve you.”
“By?”
“That’s between you and them,” The man said. “The dam, come, follow me.”
“Why don’t we take my truck? I’ve been fishing all day, and I’m pretty body sore from the fight the trout put up,” Logan said.
“Sir, I-“
“You can walk, and I’ll met you there, if that’s how you feel,” Logan said, and he turned and pulled open the door.
He adjusted the rearview mirror to watch the SEAL. The man caved and walked over to the passenger door and Keller let him in.
“Also, only the Navy would let their regulations out that much,” Logan said by way of letting the man know he knew he was a SEAL. “Afghanistan?”
“Yes, sir,” The man said. “Spent some time in the Hindu Kush, the elders there attribute beards with wisdom and respect; you grow the hair, they grow the trust.”
“Ah,” Logan said as he turned on the truck. “I was a Marine, saw some action in the Second Gulf War.”
“I know, sir,” The SEAL said.
Logan rested his foot on the e-brake and took in the SEAL for a moment, and then depressed and released the e-brake and put the F-150 into gear.
“So, where am I going then?”
“Just down near the dam, sir.”
Logan realigned his rear-view mirror and brought the wheel all the way to the left to make a U-turn across the narrow country road as rain pelted off the broad windshield of the pickup. Crossing back towards the dam, the Blackhawk came into sight; whomever the pilot was, he’d squeezed that big bitch into a parking space the size of a shoe box. Keller considered himself impressed. The idle blades of the propeller drooped in four directions around the fuselage of the military helicopter, rain ran their lengths and trickled from their angled edges. Keller eyed two men stood on the damn, but they had their backs to him.
“You can park it here, sir,” The SEAL said.
Logan didn’t reply, and he pulled up alongside the Blackhawk and parked the Ford. As he pulled the key from the ignition, he glanced passed the Navy SEAL through the passenger window to the open bay of the Blackhawk. A woman sat in the rear rack, tablet rested across her lap. As if sensing eyes on her, she looked directly at Logan, and then slunk down into her seat, and hid her face behind the open door of the Blackhawk. Logan was suddenly on edge.
“Follow me, sir,” The Navy SEAL said as he stepped out of the truck.
Logan considered his options for a moment, the road across was clear, but they had a helicopter, whoever they were. Logan stewed and then pulled the handle and opened the door. He stepped into the rain and retrieved his backpack and fishing pole.
“Sir, I really don’t think the-“
“This spinning reel cost $1,500, it’s coming with us,” Logan said defiantly. “Now, I’d like to speak to whomever is in charge here, and I’d like to do that right now.”
“Sir, I was only sent to fetch you, you’ll be-“The SEAL said, his hands up to calm Logan.
“I’ll be nothing,” Logan said as he stepped around the Navy SEAL. He looked to the girl in the helicopter. “Miss, are you in charge of all of this?”
“Sir, please,” The SEAL said as he steered Logan away.
“Get your hands off of me,” Logan said. He sidestepped the Navy SEAL to the right and put himself between the nose of the Blackhawk and the girl in the cabin. “Now, you either let me speak to the person in charge of this whatever this is, or I walk, right this second, do you understand me?”
“Oh, I hear you,” Another voice called from behind Logan.
Full of anger and contempt at what these people were doing, Logan spun and was about to yell when he was taken aback by who stood before him.
“Ding?” Logan asked in confusion.
The man had aged considerably since the last time the two had spoken; their not speaking had not arisen from some distaste either man felt for the other, but from their shared experiences of testifying before the Congress over a period of a year.
“Hi, Logan,” Ding said. “Long time, no see.”
“Ding, what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll explain once we’re on the chopper,” The man replied. He signaled the back and forth was over as he stepped past Logan, squeezed his shoulder, and then clambered into the hold of the Blackhawk. From inside he heard, “Marius, wheels up in sixty seconds.”
Logan simply blinked a few times as he tried to process what was happening. Just when he thought he’d understood, Eddie Price, the second man on the bridge, walked by and winked at him before he joined Ding in the hold. Logan scratched his head with his left hand, looked to the Blackhawk as the pilot went through his pre-flight list, then to his truck and then to the Navy SEAL.
“Sir, this way, please,” The bearded man said as he extended his left arm in a ‘please-go-here’ motion.
Logan wanted to say something, but the words escaped him, and he simply shrugged and ducked into the troop bay. Keller took a seat on the middle rack of the bench seats, right across from the woman with the tablet; she was Asian, possibly Korean, her bespectacled eyes glued to her wide tablet on her lap. She glanced up at him quickly, and then disappeared back into the illuminated screen. The Navy SEAL took the seat next to Keller, and Ding crowded in next to the Korean girl so he was off to Logan’s front left in the cramped confines of the Blackhawk.
“What about my truck?”
“We’ll send someone for it, it’ll be back in the garage for you with a full tank of gas for the trouble,” Ding said. He then pointed to the rack above for Logan to don a headset. In unison, nearly all the people aboard slipped a pair on.
“Aren’t we missing someone?” Eddie Price asked.
“Sniper-1, we’re wheels up,” Ding said. “Get onboard or you’re walking back to KBAB.”
The Navy SEAL tapped Logan’s left knee to get his attention and then pointed out the troop hold beyond the Ford to the tree line. Logan squinted as he scrutinized the forested hillside. He blinked, and a man appeared before his eyes from the tree line, bullpup sniper rifle cradled in both arms. The ghillied sniper ducked into a crouch beneath the spinning blade of the Blackhawk and climbed aboard before the pilot powered the helicopter off the deck.
Once they were clear of the mountain range and the pilot powered down for level flight, Ding called Logan’s name over the intercom of the Blackhawk.
“Logan, I know you have many questions,” Ding said. “The government is putting together a team, and these are just a few people that they have on offer,” The former director of Team Rainbow said. “I know you’ve already spoken, but this is Craig Jensen, United States Navy.”
Logan and Jensen shook hands across the hold.
“Grace Nam is the one who found you,” Ding then said as he leaned to his left.
“Logan Keller,” Logan said as he shook Grace’s hand.
“You missed our call,” Grace said as she pushed her glasses further back up her nose.
“I know, I watched as I missed it,” Logan said back. “How the hell did you find me anyway?”
“We triangulated your position using the local cell towers, though out here, the coverage is sparse,” Grace said with a hint of annoyance in her tone.
“We also talked to Hoyte down at Flighz,” Ding said, referring to Logan’s usual bartender.
“I’m gonna have a talk with Hoyte next time I go down there,” Logan said.
“I bet,” Ding said with a laugh. “Of course, I suspect you already know Eddie?”
“Of course, you put me through the paces at Hereford back in the day,” Logan said as the two shook hands. “You were a lot younger back then.”
“And thinner,” The Brit joked with a cheeky smile.
“How times have changed,” Logan muttered to himself, though everyone on headset heard him.
“Logan, you look like you haven’t aged a day,” Ding said.
“Credit my ex for putting me on a dermatological regimen,” Logan said sarcastically. “It’s the soap with the beads that make all the difference.”
“The soap with beads is terrible for the environment,” The ghillied sniper said in a Russian accent.
“And you are?” Logan asked as he pivoted in his seat.
“Glazkov, Timur Glazkov, I am pleased to meet you, Logan,” The sniper said as he extended a gloved hand for Keller to shake. “I wanted to say that you are a credit to anglers around the world, I watched you all day, but I think you fight the fish a little too much; let them do the fighting, there’s no sense to tire yourself; if you want to catch the big ones, let fly rest on surface. The big fat fish don’t chase a lure that moves too much.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Logan said as his brain retraced his steps; how had this man watched him for so long without his noticing?
“Glaz is on loan from the Russian Federation,” Ding said by way of explaining the Russian’s presence. “In fact, mostly everyone here is on loan from somewhere else.”
“What do you mean by that?” Logan asked suspiciously. “Are we getting the band back together?”
Ding and Eddie laughed, and Grace cracked a smile on her otherwise indifferent resting face.
“Yes, and no,” Ding said. “The directive came from Washington, Six is being brought out of mothball.”
“This came from the president?” Logan asked skeptically.
“Oi, lad, I hope not,” Eddie laughed at the president’s expense.
“Hey, watch it, didn’t you guys just get kicked out of Club Europe?” Jensen cut in.
“Actually, we democratically elected to toss our oars overboard so that we might finally have things our way,” Eddie corrected himself sarcastically, and got a chuckle out of both Craig and Timur.
“This came from DHS and the Joint Chiefs; Six is blacker than black. NATO, the Department of the Interior, and the Office of Special Projects via the Pentagon,” Ding said with a semblance of pride in his tone.
“Team Rainbow was blacker than black before Gabe,” Logan reminded the man ominously.
“We’ve learned from our mistakes, Logan,” Ding said solemnly. “Vegas blew the lid clean off the top of Team Rainbow, Six is just the natural progression of evolution.”
“And should Six be compromised?”
“Let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it,” Ding said.
In a little under twenty minutes, the Blackhawk had crossed over Kilaga Springs and come in for a landing at Beale Air Force Base. The pilot brought the Blackhawk to a standstill outside a reserved hangar, and as the doors parted, they revealed a LearJet nestled within. In a few moments, a crew had wheeled the aircraft into the overcast and drizzle and dropped the stairs for the passengers of the Blackhawk. Logan was the second man off the helicopter and Ding Chavez joined him.
“Once you’re aboard, Six is going to want to speak to you privately about what she expects from the new outfit,” Ding said as he crossed his arms. The two of them watched as Grace Nam jogged over to the jet and disappeared inside, and then watched as Jensen and Glazkov busted out cigarettes to have a smoke before the ride out. “You see, the problem with Team Rainbow was that there was no accountability,” Ding suddenly said. Logan was caught off guard. “NATO mandated the creation of the old team after a wave of free actors rose up in the aftermath of the Soviet Union’s collapse, and we funded it through the Department of the Interior. If what happened in Vegas had happened in some shithole somewhere else, we’d all still have our old titles, but it didn’t. When the senate finally took a look at their own books, they got angry and they felt tricked—that is the reason Team Rainbow was shuttered. Logan, Six needs accountability for their actions and their inactions, understand?”
“Of course,” Logan said. “But I think all of this works under the assumption that I’m going to accept their offer.”
“Oh, I have a feeling you will,” Ding said as he slapped his friend on the back. At present the pilot came around from the helicopter, helmet held under one arm. “Oh, also, Logan, there wasn’t time for a proper introduction, this is your pilot, Marius Streicher.”
“Herr Logan,” Marius said, overexaggerating his Germanness. “I read the technical manual you put out years back.”
“I’m honored, I suppose,” Logan said.
“Right, yes, well, I should be getting aboard,” Marius said, and he ducked away to board the plane.
“As should you, Logan, good luck,” Ding said with a wide smile.
“Are you not coming, too?” Logan asked as he stopped in his tracks, fishing rod in one hand, backpack slung off his left shoulder.
“It would appear that Six misplaced my invitation,” Ding said as he opened his palms and shrugged.
“Sir, I wouldn’t’ve come this far if I thought you wouldn’t be there,” Logan said as he rolled his shoulder to keep his backpack from sliding down his arm. Rain dripped down the back of his neck.
Ding smiled and nodded.
“I know, Logan,” He said. “You’ll still have Eddie, though.”
“Bishop?”
“Don’t you think they asked her to be here, too?” Ding asked with a smirk. “I only accepted because we have a history and I think you’re the right man for the job.”
“Sir, it isn’t Team Rainbow without you,” Logan said.
“That’s just it,” Ding said with a raw and bittersweet grin. “It isn’t Team Rainbow anymore. It’s Six.”

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