****
Slade put the key into the lock and turned. It was a little stiff, so he worked the key into the lock gently, not wanting to break the key. After a few more turns, the lock gave, and he put the lock and key in his pocket for later. He lifted the heavy iron door of the storm cellar he used as his secure cache. Making sure there was no one around, he descended the iron staircase, pulling the door closed behind him. As soon as the door was shut, fluorescent lights illuminated the room.
Nearly ten meters square, there were no windows, and separate vents could filter particulates out of the air in the event of another nuclear strike. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Slade turned to his right, moving a duffle bag from the floor to the table. Shelves in front of him contained power cells for his Boom Stick as well as ammunition for some less conventional weapons.
Firearms had been outlawed shortly after Woodrow Wilson came to power due to the advances in technology pertaining to subduing Target or enemy rather than killing them. That didn't stop the black market from flourishing by selling all kinds of firearms to people with enough Royals to buy. Slade was a guy that like to be very prepared, and had bought a few to keep in his cache, along with ammunition to go with them.
Skipping the weapons for the moment, Slade crossed to the desk he had in the far corner. Opening the drawer, he pulled out all of his fake passports and ID tags. While the government purported to be "One World, Indivisible", the practices that had held for more than three hundred years were hard to break, and passports were still required, even with his status as an Alpha - or ex-Alpha, as it were. He stuffed all but the Alberta Territory passport into the duffle, along with three bundles of Royals - about three hundred thousand, before going back to the shelves containing the weapons. He grabbed four power cells, stuffing them into the duffle. Next to the remaining power cells, Slade put large boxes of .308, .32, and 12 gauge rounds before moving to grabbing a sniper rifle, a pair of magnum handguns, and a shotgun before zipping it shut.
Setting the bag aside, Slade moved to his desk, setting the Tablet to display the information he had picked up in Crimea. He was still unsure how to proceed with the knowledge of a human smuggling ring. Control was out. He was pretty sure they were in on it. On top of that, he had a fair bit of guilt over the four guards he had taken out at McDonald's place. While they did attack, he certainly did not need to kill them - he could have incapacitated them and left them to heal.
It was the rage his chip brought on when he got into a physical altercation. It was meant to push him past the limits of his normal abilities in a crisis or Delivery situation. The chip also deadened all emotions that didn't directly have an impact on his job as an Emissary. It was frustrating, to say the least, and yet helpful at the same time.
Transferring the info to the screen in front of him, Slade scanned the information he had captured on McDonald. He set the Tablet to work transcribing the audio file he had recorded from the roof into a readable text file. While that was working, he headed to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water and a tin of oranges from his stash. He would stay here for a couple days, and then head out to see if the heat had lessened on his head.
Sitting on the small couch that doubled as his bed, the realization of the last two days hit Slade like a brick. Fatigue washed over him in waves, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Just a few minutes, he told himself, placing the orange and the water on the table in the corner before succumbing to sleep.