by T C Miller
“What kind of emergency?”
“You know I can’t say, but please do as I’ve told you and leave now.”
“Okay, now you’re scaring me. . .Does this have anything to do with those nukes? I told you I don’t like being assigned to a base that has them. . .”
He cupped his hand over the phone. “A little privacy, please. . .We’ll start the meeting in two minutes.”
The first people into the room turned around and motioned for those following them to back out. A young lieutenant was the last one through the door and closed it behind him.
WINFIELD RESIDENCE
Bart stopped on the stairs and turned back toward Nora. “Look, I know you know how to be careful. . .But everything about this is real hush-hush. . .’though, I guess you’d know that better’n anybody.”
“It’s one advantage of having worked in OSI. . .I know how to talk-around something like this. Besides, a few of my girlfriends and I developed our own emergency-action codes to use over the telephone to let each other know when there’s a problem.”
“Any way of lettin’ them know to leave town, without comin’ right out and sayin’ it?”
“Of course. . .All I have to do is tell them we’re having a girl’s night out in the Bay area to celebrate Mary’s Birthday. . .Means they should take cover away from here.”
“Who’s Mary?
“No idea. . .We made the name up to use in the code.”
“Hot damn, I love being married to a super-smart woman. Okay, give them the code phrase, but no more’n that, okay?”
“Roger that, my darling husband.” She put her arms around him, laid her head on his warm chest and breathed in his scent. “Please be careful.”
“You know I will. Otherwise, I have to answer to my lovin’ wife and you know what a bear she can be.”
“I mean it. . .I thought we put all this behind us when we quit doing covert missions. . .”
“We did and I have. . .Especially for other agencies. I’m just a run-of-the-mill cop now.”
“You’re not a run-of-the-mill anything, sweetheart. I wonder how people in your squadron would feel if they knew they worked with the legendary Tupelo?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’d want my autograph at the very least. Men would envy me. . .Women’d wanna have my baby.”
“Fat chance as long as I’m around. . .You’re one hundred per cent mine. . .Seriously, though, what about exposure? I thought you were going to keep a low-profile.”
“I’ll do my best to stay out of the limelight. . .Let others do the photo ops.”
“Hope so, especially after London. . .”
LONDON, ENGLAND
SIX YEARS BEFORE
Bart, or Tupelo as he was known in the shadowy world of spies, had set up the meeting with a double-agent named Martin who insisted that it be in a secluded locale to reduce the chances of being followed. It was not an unusual request, so Bart agreed, fully aware of the possibility of a double-cross.
He arranged for the only two agents available at the time to post themselves at a hidden spot at each end of the deserted street. The warehouses and offices that lined it provided ample opportunity for both hunted and prey.
Bart and Nora turned the corner from a side street and the smell of rotting garbage and wet cobblestones assaulted their senses. They had not started the two-block walk to the center of the district when their earpieces crackled with a message from one of the hidden agents.
“Hey, Boss. . .Adams. Think I see something in one of the second story windows. . .possible sniper.”
“Has he spotted you?”
“No, I’m on top of the building above you looking down at him. He’s focused on the center of the street. . .Hasn’t looked back up my way.”
“Sure he’s an enemy op?”
“Don’t know why he’d be holding a rifle with a scope?”
“You have a suppressor on your weapon?
“Don’t leave home without it.”
“Can you take him out without a commotion?”
“Easy shot. . .But won’t Martin be looking for him?”
“Don’t think so. . .He’ll be afraid to give him away by looking up. . .Anybody else in the room?”
“Can’t tell. . .too dark.”
“Not a good idea to leave him. . .Take him out.”
They heard a muffled pop from above and the tinkling sound of glass falling on the sidewalk ahead of them. They paused to wait for a reaction—but there was none.
Nora looked up at Bart. “What now? Do we go on, knowing it’s a trap?”
“Could be, but also could be Martin put that guy up there in case we were settin’ a trap. Everybody in this business looks over their shoulders. . .including us. We’ll have to continue so we can draw him out. One way or another, we need to know where he’s coming from. . .friend or foe.”
“Might not be a friend after we killed one of his men. . .”
“One of the risks in this business. . .Told him to come alone. . .He chose to put the man up there. . .it’s on his head. One of the risks we all take.”
“I know. . .Just hope we don’t plan on doing this forever. . . don’t think I could take the tension.”
“Like I said, it’s our last mission.”
“Unless something more important comes up.”
“Not likely. . .I’m ready to settle down and live a normal life. . .”
Bart was interrupted by a car turning onto the far end of the street. It stopped after a few yards and the headlights blinked twice. Nora raised the flashlight she was carrying and blinked back twice. The headlights went out and the driver’s door opened. It was impossible to make out the facial features of the driver as he stepped out and walked around the door, but he appeared to be the same height and build as Martin. The streetlight behind him shadowed his face and made any attempt to see inside the car futile.
A heavy fog had begun moving into the street—which was not surprising, since the river was only a few blocks away. It brought with it the primordial smell of the river. Wonder if Martin thought about fog moving in when he set the time? Nora nearly stopped in mid-stride before abruptly continuing.
“Everything okay, Baby?”
“Don’t know. . .strange feeling just hit me. Call it a premonition, but I feel like there’s something wrong with the whole setup.”
“I don’t much like it either, but we’re here and we need to let it play out. It’s never easy working with double-agents.”
“Who did you say Martin works for?”
“AVH–Hungarian Intelligence Service.”
“And we’re supposed to trust him?”
“Like I said, a double-agent. Those Soviet encryption codes could prove priceless. . .”
They had moved close enough to the shadowy figure for his face to come into view. Bart suddenly shoved Nora away from him and she sprinted across the street. He yelled loudly enough for their backup agents to hear, “It’s not Martin!”
The figure in front of them drew a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at Nora. At the same time, Bart pulled his 1911 from a shoulder rig and fired. The .45 round caught him in the chest and knocked him back, causing his shot to race harmlessly skyward.
Nora drew a Walther PPK from her purse and fired another round into the spy. He collapsed to the pavement like a wet newspaper.
A noise behind them caused them to whirl around as an old Mercedes sedan turned from the side street and steered in their direction. Its headlights blinded them and they moved into doorways across the street from each other. Nora made note of the rear windows rolling down and fired three consecutive rounds into the back.
The driver’s head exploded from the well-placed shot rendered by Adams from his perch above the street. The out-of-control vehicle moved past before crashing into a store front.
Bart and Nora approached the sedan from both sides with pistols at the ready. It was unnecessary, both rear seat occupants had taken rounds from her weapon.
> “Nice shootin’ pardner!” Bart said.
“Thanks, Honey.”
They turned their attention to the vehicle at the other end of the street. Another spy climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car. He put it in gear and turned to look out the back window when a .45 caliber round caught him just above the ear and removed the top of his head with a spray of blood and brain matter. Nora looked over at Bart, who had assumed a two-footed, square shooter’s stance. His pistol had a trace of smoke coming out of the barrel and the smell of cordite hung in the air.
“I can’t believe you made that shot!” she whispered. “Has to be thirty yards or more.”
“Luck,” he replied. “And maybe a little help from above.”
“Whatever it was, looks like nobody got away,” she observed. “So what just happened?”
She asked the question as they moved cautiously down the street toward the stalled car. Again, they approached the vehicle from opposite sides, working as a team.
“Don’t know for sure, but it’s obvious they aren’t friends.” Bart walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk with his weapon drawn. The precaution wasn’t necessary. The dead man’s hands and feet were bound and there was a single shot to the temple.
“Looks like they figured Martin out and killed him after getting the information about this meeting. Hell, for all we know, they could’ve been holding a gun to his head while I talked to him on the phone.”
“So where does it leave us?”
“End of the line for this investigation and my cover is blown. . .Time to return to my day job.’
“Can’t say I’m sorry about that.” She sighed. “I’m ready for a little peace and quiet.”
“Me too, Baby. . .me too.”
The silent figure stayed in the shadows of the second floor room. His associate lay twitching and bleeding on the floor, beyond any medical help. The quick gun battle had unfolded in the street below, yet he felt no urge to join in. Years of intelligence work for the Soviets taught him that it was better to let brash young operatives expose themselves to danger and dying and let more cautious agents live to continue their work.
He removed his comrade’s identification folder and placed it in the pocket of his raincoat. Let MI-6 earn their pay. He was fairly certain the tall figure worked for British Foreign Intelligence—not that it mattered. He had gotten only a glimpse of his face, but he would remember it. Martin had not revealed the agent’s identity, even while being forced to endure an extremely painful interrogation. The only clue he gave was a whispered name as he passed out from the pain. “Tupelo. . .”
BASE COMMANDER’S OFFICE
MATHER AFB
“Yes, Margie, you should be scared out of your wits. . ..Does that tell you enough?” Colonel Jim Jackson spoke firmly into the phone.
“Yes,” she replied in a trembling voice. “I’ll leave right now.
“Leave a message with my office when you get to Tahoe and I’ll call you back.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Be there soon as I can.” He listened to the static on the phone for a while and finally hung up.
“Come on in,” he said in a loud voice. The door opened and they filed in, taking their usual places around the conference table.
“Everybody here?”
“Nobody from Food Services,” Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt replied.
“We’ll start without them. . .Fill ‘em in later.”
“Yes, sir.”
J.J. cleared his throat to bring the room to silence. “Most of us have lived near nukes long enough to fear them. . .and getting them back may be the most important thing we do in our entire careers. So let’s buckle down and start running the checklists.”
He turned the page on the EAB red binder and looked at Item 1. “All right, let’s see here. . .In case you haven’t done it already, we’re on twenty-four hour manning as of this moment. Start with twelve hour shifts and see how it goes. Fifteen minute recall status and I don’t mean just essential personnel. . .I want everybody available. We don’t anticipate this lasting long, but I want us at full manning while it does.”
The Director of Civilian Personnel motioned to him. “What about civilians? You’re talking a lot of overtime.”
“We can leave them on their usual shifts for now. Any section that feels they need extra civilian bodies should coordinate it through you to my office.
“Item 2. . .I’m placing my executive officer in charge of the rest of the base while I act as the on-scene commander. Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt will take over until further notice. If you need anything from me, run it through the XO.
“Public Affairs should get a press release out that says we’re conducting a base-wide exercise and going to DEFCON Three as part of it.
“Before we go on, and this is critical. . .Go back to your people and tell them I want a solid lock on rumors. I’ll personally crucify anybody who talks out of turn. Their careers and maybe even their freedom will go down the toilet. . .and I’ll be the one pulling the chain. Any questions?”
They sat quietly.
“This situation’s like most exercises, although I have to admit it sure raises the pucker factor when it’s the real thing. . . Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the Mobile Command Post. ”
He grabbed his BDU camouflage hat from the table, tucked his organizer under his arm and stood as they snapped to attention. They sat down as soon as the door closed and started mumbling to each other in hushed tones.
323rd ABG MOBILE COMMAND POST
OVERLOOKING THE ALERT PAD
Colonel Jackson cleared the last step as the occupants sprang to attention. “At ease,” he said automatically and they resumed their duties.
The custom command and control center was built on a commercial bus chassis and resembled the massive recreational vehicles that cruised the local freeways—at least on the outside.
The inside had little in common with its vacation counterparts. A bank of television screens that occupied six feet of one wall was used to monitor local and network newscasts, or to review video recordings.
A satellite dish on the roof supported remote communications capabilities, including secure teleconferencing. The distinct smell of stale air conditioning mixed with the aroma of half-burnt coffee. The constant hum of electronics equipment produced a blanket of white noise as a backdrop to hushed conversations.
Half of the interior walls contained consoles for communications technicians and supplies were stocked in overhead bays.
He walked over to the most important item, a thirty-eight cup coffee maker, grabbed his white mug with the embossed colonel’s eagle from a wall-mounted rack and filled it. Four sugars later, he took his first sip. Better than my wife’s.
A small conference table occupied the rear of the command post. Half-filled coffee cups and pads of paper with scribbled notes and doodles lay strewn about. Members of the Emergency Response Team from Disaster Preparedness wandered in and out with reports.
J. J. plopped down in the chair at the head of the table and opened his ever-present organizer. He pulled a silver pen with an engraved eagle out of his shirt pocket and drew a line on a yellow legal pad two inches from the left margin from top to bottom, labeling the smaller side TIME, and the larger side ACTIONS. After noting the time of the attack, he drew a line under both entries from the left margin to the right margin and moved down one line.
His command staff entered and sat around the table. “We’ll get started in a minute. First, though I’d like all nonessential personnel to wait outside. Stay close in case you’re needed.”
A half-dozen mumbling people filed out the two doors, one at the front and one in the middle of the unit. Another six sat shoulder-to-shoulder in folding chairs at the opposite end of the command post. They would be called upon to address the group.
“All right, Chief Worth, let’s get started.”
Chief Master Sergeant Bill Worth, the S
enior Enlisted Advisor, was also his key assistant and aide.
“Yes, sir,” came the crisp reply. “This briefing is classified Top Secret and all personnel present have been confirmed to be authorized.”
A Staff Sergeant administrative assistant took notes on a hardened computer that was designed to contain classified material. It could have been any corporate meeting, except for the camouflage BDUs and the guard outside with an automatic weapon.
Chief Worth locked the front door, walked to the middle door and checked the lock. “Ready, sir.”
MATHER AIR FORCE BASE
BASE COMMANDER’S STAFF MEETING
Lieutenant Colonel Schmidt spoke in a determined voice, “All right, everybody, Let’s start by going over every check list that’s available. Call your people together when you get back to your sections and brief them on the situation, especially the need for utter secrecy.
“I know they’ll want to tell their families what’s going on, but tell them to keep it close and personal. We don’t want to start a panic with our dependents.
“Some will want to send their families out of state. . .That’s understandable, but tell them to do it discreetly. Also, quietly call your essential personnel in from leave or any other authorized absences.”
The Director of Personnel raised one finger.
“Yes, Colonel Scott.”
“What about personnel who are TDY or away at tech schools?. . .You want them recalled?”
“This should be over by the end of the day. . .tomorrow at the latest. . .Now that I think about it, it might send the wrong message if we start yanking our people back for something we haven’t admitted exists.”
“I agree, Bill. . .But it’s part of the checklist.” Scott pointed to the red binder in front of him.
Schmidt glanced down at the notes he had been taking. He had led numerous staff meetings as vice commander of the base when Colonel Jackson was unavailable. Chance to grab a little command time.
“Of course. . .Good call, Jim. Run through your section checklists to make sure we’re at a hundred per cent and our sixes are covered. Meet back here in one hour for a base-wide status report. . .Keep your radios close and stay alert.”
