BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  Officer Performance Reports would be more subtle. Puffed up statements would be replaced with career-killing statements like. . .does an adequate job managing resources.”

  It meant the same thing in the end, slow or no promotion for enlisted and early retirement or dismissal for officers.

  Jackson cleared his throat. “Colonel Winfield, how do we find them?”

  “That’s the hard part, sir. . .’til we ID them, we don’t have a clue. . .and most of our crime scene’s under tons of rock and dirt.”

  “All right, then. . .Keep going through the Alert Pad and start a search up and downriver. . .They may have escaped by boat, since it flows into the Delta and on out to the ocean. They could meet up with a ship and go anywhere. . .We need to move fast.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bart put his hand on Jake’s shoulder and leaned in. “Good job on the research, son. . .Now, get yourself over to the base hospital and let them check you out. That was a pretty good-sized blast you took.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir, think I’ll wait ‘til later. . .Like to check out a few things first.”

  “Whatever.” Bart turned to the Operations Lieutenant. “Establish a search grid and let’s get the ball rolling.”

  “On it, sir!”

  They started to leave, when all the radios squawked at once. The voice of an excited young airman relayed the electrifying news, “All command post staff on this frequency, please report to the Alert Pad. . .We found one of them alive!”

  HIGHWAY 50

  EAST OF PLACERVILLE

  The Class C motor home was a full-sized passenger van in front with an RV body attached behind the front seats. This allowed the driver or passenger to stand up and walk into the rear living area.

  Rick Eichner sat in the driver’s seat wearing a baseball cap that read, Retired: No Job, No Clock, No Worry. He took it from the owners before locking them in the tiny bathroom in the middle of the vehicle.

  The unlit stub of a cigar he was chewing seemed to act as a gyroscope, helping to steer the wallowing vehicle around curves that were tight enough to slow most drivers down to thirty or forty miles per hour. Instead, he ignored the numerous yellow caution signs and kept the speedometer at a steady fifty-five miles, the posted speed limit.

  He waved at a couple of oncoming cars with out-of-state plates. They waved back and he smiled. How fortunate they were to have seen the pristine beauty and electrified gambling action of Lake Tahoe before it was gone forever.

  Rick pulled into a picnic area that was little more than a wide spot in the road. It could accommodate no more than two or three cars safely, so the RV took up most of the space. He stood, stretched as much as the space would allow and walked toward the bathroom. A quick touch of flame to the cigar brought it to life and he puffed until a cloud billowed around him.

  The cramped interior of the bathroom contained a toilet stool and a combination tub and shower that held a very frightened old couple from Goshen, Indiana.

  Eichner had struck up a conversation with them in an RV park along the American River, near the base. It was easy to get inside by asking directions to a town on the other side of Lake Tahoe. They consulted their road atlas and turned to find themselves facing a gun.

  A few minutes later, and with the aid of a few yards of duct tape, they were bound, gagged and placed in the tub. They had been in the process of leaving when Rick came upon them, so all he had to do was retrieve the keys from the old man’s pocket and drive away.

  Rick spoke to the frightened old couple in the tub as he finished urinating, even though they couldn’t reply, “The trailer behind your RV looks plain, yet has enough firepower in it to level San Francisco and Sacramento combined. Four nuclear warheads and the gear I need to turn Lake Tahoe into an empty hole in the ground for a thousand years.

  “This fifth one is bungee-corded to your bed. . .My idea of nuclear security. Get it? Nuclear security.” He didn’t bother checking to see if the old couple was laughing. The sixth device had been left in a storage locker in Rancho Cordova to be used later.

  “A quick stop at the lake to do a little gambling. . .plant one of the devices and boom. . .biggest diversion in modern history! You’ll have front-row seats and I’ll be long gone.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter and thought about his upcoming stay at the ranch. “I can wait out the uproar, unlike you Americans with your frenzied lives. . .Yuri Petronovich has patience to wait for your incompetent authorities to tire of the search. Then I’ll be on my way to a life of glory!”

  Another quick touch of flame to the cigar produced an even bigger cloud of smoke. His escape plan was in place after months of careful thought and planning. A storage yard in South Shore, Lake Tahoe offered twenty-four hour access through a keypad controlled gate. He had stashed a pickup truck and camper there under a false name. The rig held everything he needed to exist with no outside contact for at least two months.

  It also had almost five hundred thousand dollars stashed in a hidden compartment. The three hundred thousand he stole from his gambling buddies was hidden in a secret compartment in the truck. The rest had been siphoned from secret offshore banking accounts. Bureaucrats in Moscow who deposited the money during the Cold War would never have guessed it would be used for an operation like this.

  The small-minded politicians who now ran his beloved Russia made him want to vomit. Citizens with no idea how weak a so-called democracy could be elected them and stumbled down the capitalist road to mediocrity. They needed a lesson. He was going to be their teacher and the hero of the new revolution.

  He started the engine and pulled onto the main roadway. A driver of a car going in the same direction slammed on his brakes in an attempt to avoid the slow-moving RV. His brakes locked up and the car slid sideways into oncoming traffic, striking the front of a pickup. The driver of the car was killed instantly and a passenger in the truck was ejected through the windshield onto the hood of the car.

  Rick surveyed the result of his carelessness for only a second and continued, glad that both vehicles had missed his rig. “Oh well, guess it just wasn’t their day.” He accelerated steadily to the speed limit.

  MANHOLE UNDER THE BLACK JACK

  BOMBER

  The crater that was once a manhole was swarming with rescue crews. The twisted steel framework for the jury-rigged lifting system had been cut away to allow access to the tunnel. Halogen work lights illuminated a pit at the bottom. Three security policemen were digging frantically with small trenching tools and even their bare hands. They had uncovered the head, shoulders and one arm of a middle-aged man.

  Bart joined them in the pit. The dust and blood covered man grasped his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. He was fighting for every breath and trying desperately to communicate.

  “It’s okay, pardner,” Bart said as he knelt next to him. “We’ll get you out of here fast as we can.” His eyes adjusted to the bright lights and dusty air and he looked closer at the bloodied face. He couldn’t be sure, but the victim looked a lot like a retired security policeman who now worked as a DOD policeman on base. “Bill. . .Bill Johnson, is that you?”

  The man groaned, looked away and replied, “Yeah, Colonel, it’s my sorry ass. . .Others make it out okay?”

  “Others?” Bart queried “We searched the entire drainage tunnel and you’re the only one we found.”

  He gasped for breath. “Not in the drainage tunnel. . .Underneath me. . . .dug up from. . .an old gold mine shaft. . .Used ore-car tracks. . .moved the warheads out.”

  “We thought that might be how y’all pulled it off.”

  “Waited ‘til the last minute to dig up to the drainage tunnel. . .to not set off sensors. . .Smooth as a Swiss watch. . .Took over the Alert Pad. . .Got the nukes into the tunnel.”

  “So they’re buried under you?” Bart’s eyes narrowed.

  Bill coughed. “No. . .Rick said you might. . .set them off. . .by accident. . .Moved ‘em to a truck. . .Came back to get the
comm gear. . .Rick went bat-shit crazy. . .Said we was plotting. . .Shot Jason in the face. . .Told us. . .get up into the drainage tunnel. Blew up before we got all the way there.”

  “So, there were others?”

  “Yes, I’m saying. . .probably all dead. . .except for that asshole. . .Only one could’ve made it out. . .Lying son of a bitch. . .Had a remote. . .surprise for you. . .Turned out it was for us. . .biggest fools on the planet.”

  “Some surprise.” Bart shook his head. “Then the timer setup was fake?”

  “Yeah. Jack said it was a light show. . .not connected to anything. . .Used to pressure you.”

  “Who’s Rick?”

  “Eichner, local guy, like the rest of us.” Bill squirmed and looked around. Two medics stood by to take him to the base hospital once his legs were freed. “I know things. . .don’t look too good, Colonel. . .I’m not a bad guy. . .in a jam. . .flat-out desperate. Think you could help me out, here?”

  “Probably too late for that. . .With fatalities and all . . .”

  “No! Can’t be. . .Nobody was supposed to be hurt. . .agreed on that. . .Thought we were the only ones. . .” Bill was visibly shaken and had a tell-me-it-ain’t-so look.

  Bart shook his head. “You’ve been around the Alert Pad long enough to know cops will die defending it. Think they’d let you waltz in without a fight?”

  “No. . .that was the beauty of the plan. Rick got us long-range Tasers. . .shocked ‘em ‘til they passed out. . .had mortar shells with knockout gas. . .Put ‘em in the back of the semi. Supposed to come to in twelve hours or so. . .Not supposed to die. . .”

  “Well, four of ‘em did. . .refused to give up. Somebody’s gotta pay.”

  “Guess the bull’s-eye’s on me. . .Damn it, Colonel, would you tell them. . .I cooperated?”

  “Sure, but you’re gonna have to give up a whole lot more about the plan and who’s involved.”

  “Tell me. . .what you need.”

  Bart joined the others in digging with his bare hands to free the trapped man and motioned for a young security policeman to move closer. “Airman Barrett, write down whatever he says. . .And why are they here?” He pointed to Agents Johansen and Benson.

  “Colonel Jackson told me to bring them,” he stammered. “Said give them access to whatever they want. . .Should I get him on the radio?”

  “No, I’ll call him.” Bart stepped away from the work crew and switched his radio to a private frequency. “J.J., Bart, over.”

  The reply was immediate, “Calling about the NSA agents, right?”

  “Roger that.”

  “Give them unrestricted access and help. . .Understood?”

  “You’re the boss. . .Mind if I ask why?”

  “Not open for discussion. . .Way over our pay grades. We’ll talk about it later.”

  “You’re driving this trolley.”

  “Thanks. . .you know I appreciate it.” Jackson signed off.

  Bart walked back to the crater. “Take those two wherever they want to go. . .Anybody questions it, tell ‘em to talk to me.”

  “Yes, sir!” The young airman snapped to attention and rendered a salute. Bart returned it and got back to work, helping to dig.

  Airman Barrett rejoined the NSA agents. “Don’t know who you are, but you can go wherever you want. . .Must know somebody.”

  The two black-suited figures offered no reply as they picked up their briefcases and followed the young airman toward the rear hatch of the B-52. They had work to do.

  BASE COMMANDERS’ OFFICE

  323rd ABG HEADQUARTERS

  A half-dozen key personnel were seated at a conference table that formed a “T” with the base commander’s desk. Another half-dozen stood along the walls. The smell of stale cigarette smoke clinging to a few of the uniforms hung in the air. An occasional whiff of strong coffee reached Jake Thomas and the two NSA agents as they faded into a back corner.

  Bart stood at the opposite end of the table from Colonel Jackson delivering a progress briefing. “Other end of the tunnel was hidden by brush in old mine tailings a quarter mile down river. OSI is going over every bit of the evidence we’ve collected so far. Looks like a heavy truck and trailer were used to get the weapons out and an older model sedan leased to Eichner’s construction company was abandoned there.”

  “It’s a start,” J.J. commented. “What else turned up?”

  “A profile of this Eichner character is starting to emerge. No family we can find. . .Mainly socialized with the core of his attack team. Has other contacts. . .mostly clients of his construction company. Shows a track record the last few years of heavy gambling and womanizing.”

  “What about ties to terrorist organizations?”

  “Nothing obvious. . .Few short calls to Russian consular offices. . .Might could be an attempt to get a working relationship going. Could be a mere. . .But that raises more questions than answers. . .Like, where’d he get his training and what are his motives?. . .Seems to have popped up out of nowhere. . .My money is on long-term deep cover op.”

  “You’d know better than anybody,” Jackson noted. “What about this Bill Johnson. . .He going to make it?”

  “Don’t know. . . .Looked pretty banged up when we dug him out. He’s in the base hospital now, under guard. Gave us a lot of inside dope on the intruders.”

  “JAG will be putting together a case on him.”

  “We’ll work with them.”

  J.J addressed everyone in the room, “Lot of good work in a short time. It’ll reflect in your performance reports. . .indirectly, of course, since it’s classified. There will be individual decorations. . .also classified. On a personal note, I want to thank every person who was involved. Now, I know you need to get back to your work centers, so unless you have something else, that’s it.”

  Heads nodded and the group began to file out. Colonel Jackson motioned to Winfield. “Would you and Sergeant Thomas stay behind? I’d also like to talk with Agents Benson and Johansen.”

  Bart nodded toward the NSA agents. “Together?”

  “Yes, together. . .I have a follow-up project for the four of you.”

  Bart sat down and motioned for Jake to join him. Benson and Johansen sat on the other side as the door to the conference room was closed by the last of the departing group.

  J.J. clasped his hands on his desk and cleared his throat. “Let me begin by saying that everything I am about to tell you is highly classified and will not be discussed with others unless I give my specific approval. . .clear?”

  The four nodded and he continued, “Sergeant, I believe you know Agents Benson and Johansen from working with them a few years ago, correct?”

  Jake squirmed in his seat. “Respectfully, sir, I don’t know if I’m at liberty. . .”

  “I’m not asking you to divulge any classified information, Sergeant. . .Just letting you know I’ve been told about it.”

  “Yes, sir. Although this is the first time I’ve seen them in person. They were Mission Controllers for a TDY I did in the Philippines.”

  “Good. . .Bart, were you aware of his past work with the NSA?”

  “Not the exact nature. . .I thought he was training anti-insurgent forces.”

  “And that’s what we want the records to show,” Agent Benson said as she leaned forward. “He was actually working for us on missions to recover equipment from downed aircraft in rebel-held territory.

  “Our people were stretched thin and Sergeant Thomas proved to be a very valuable asset. . .Performed to our highest expectations. Good to be working with him in person.”

  Bart chuckled and turned to Jake. “Damn, son, you’re an even bigger badass than I thought!”

  “Just doing my job, sir.”

  “You were good at not giving anything away.”

  Jackson clapped his hands together. “Now that we’ve broken the ice, let’s see what needs to be done to bring this to a conclusion. Bart, I want you to take operational control of the recovery mission. . .be m
y personal representative in the field. You’ll have all base resources at your disposal.”

  “With all due respect, sir. . .spooks are probably better suited for this job.”

  “I want an Air Force officer with a take-charge attitude and from your past work you aren’t afraid to think outside the box.”

  “Got me into hot water with my bosses more than once.”

  “True, but it’s also why you command respect above and below you in the chain. . .Not trying to put you on the spot, but I think you’re the best man for the job.”

  “Again, sir. . .I’m just a base cop. But since you want me to continue with the pursuit, I’m more than happy to. We have a pretty good idea Eichner’s headed to Lake Tahoe, so we’ll start by going there. What about the locals, though? Shouldn’t they be in charge?”

  “Under normal cirumstances. . .But higher-ups want military people front and center. We’ll let them know you’re coming, but not what your status is. . .Let them assume you’re NSA. Benson and Johansen will go with you. . .Should keep questions to a minimum. I want this under our control, since those nukes belong to us. . .Won’t sleep ‘til they’re back on base. Take whatever you need and go get this bastard!” He slammed his fist down on the desk.

  “Yes, sir. Bill Johnson says Eichner wants to turn the tables on the mob. . .I feel like that means he’s planning on setting off one of the nukes. We put a BOLO out to law enforcement. . .Told them to observe and report, not to approach. . .Rounded up a list of vehicles from his construction company and included them.”

  “Good. Who do you want on your team?”

  “Thomas, Agents Benson and Johansen and Airman First Class Joanna Davies.”

  “Davies? One who killed the intruder with just a knife?

  “That’s her. I like her skill set and it’ll look like we’re on vacation together. . .Won’t stir up as many questions.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I checked and Tahoe airport’s socked in with fog. . .Guess you’ll be driving. . .CHP says they’ll give you an escort.”