BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  “Not a good idea, sir. . .draw too much attention. Besides, you can’t go fast anyway with all the curves and drop-offs on Highway 50.”

  “Your call, Bart. . .just get my nukes back.”

  Colonel Jackson wet his lips and spoke in measured terms, “This comes from the highest level. . .Try and capture Eichner alive. But if he tries to detonate one those nukes. . .take him out hard, clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good. Take sat phones. . .Call as soon as you locate him. . .I want my weapons back ASAP!”

  ***

  CHAPTER 14

  CONSORTIUM HEADQUARTERS

  “You are sure she is going to Lake Tahoe?”

  “Yes. . .positive.”

  “And the ID has been confirmed?”

  “As you ordered.”

  “What about the agent known as Tupelo. . .Have you identified him yet?”

  “No, Commissioner. . .I am still working on that.”

  “Do not only work at it. . .Get it done!”

  “Yes, sir. My inquiries are proceeding as fast as prudently possible. I should have the information in a day or two, at the very most.”

  “Excellent. . .Goodbye.”

  The Commissioner pressed the intercom button and spoke, “Conrad, would you come in with your notepad.”

  The door opened a minute later and his assistant took a seat in front of the desk, pen in hand.

  The Commissioner picked up his coffee cup took a sip and sat it back down. “A situation has developed in the Northern California project that offers the chance to resolve some old issues. . .I want a strike team there immediately. Draw from available personnel in the area, including the smuggling group in Seawind Bay. I should think six men will be adequate. This will be a clandestine operation with full combat gear, including body armor, gas masks and night-vision. . .Our Sacramento safe-house has them.”

  “Should I inform them of the nature of the mission, sir?”

  “They will be destroying a CIA safe-house and taking a female operative hostage. I will give them further details by secure video when they arrive in Sacramento.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  The Commissioner glanced at his Rolex. “Tell them I want them there in no more than three hours. . .and they can look forward to a sizable bonus.

  Conrad closed the door behind him and the Commissioner spun his chair around to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He hoped the opportunity had finally come to avenge the broken London operation years ago and the death of five of his best agents. Could this be his chance to kill Tupelo and his agent-wife?

  CALIFORNIA HIGHWAY 50

  EAST OF RANCHO CORDOVA, CA

  Joanna Davies squirmed in the middle seat of the custom van. The plush seats should have made her feel comfortable, but she wasn’t. Sitting next to Sergeant Thomas should make her feel good, but it didn’t. She hadn’t felt right since the takeover of the Alert Pad and felt somehow responsible for the breach of security. Telling herself there was nothing more she could have done brought no comfort. Joanna stared out the side window at the towering pine trees that lined the road.

  A woman who was introduced to her as an NSA agent was stretched out on the back-seat of the van. Joanna knew little about the NSA, and most of that came from spy novels. She assumed ninety-nine percent of what they did was classified so far above her level she probably shouldn’t ask them the time of day and that was okay with her. Some things were so secretive she was probably better off not knowing.

  Still, if the rumpled woman behind her was a representative of the most highly-trained, clandestine organization in the intelligence community, it raised a number of questions.

  Mary Benson was tossing, turning and snoring loudly enough to be heard in the noisy van. Joanna smelled a pungent, acrid body odor when Benson brushed past her in the van wearing a dusty and wrinkled dark blue business suit. A wide run in her dark panty hose revealed a pale leg that looked none too fit.

  She glanced down at her pressed jeans and crisp white top and was sure she projected a professional image, even in casual clothes.

  The van braked hard to avoid a deer bounding across the road and she turned back toward the front.

  Lieutenant Colonel Winfield was driving, since it was his van, with Jay Johansen in the passenger seat. Jake Thomas sat next to her in the middle. How did a lowly senior airman end up here? Somebody higher up wanted her to be along on this mission.

  “You okay?” Jake asked.

  “Guess so. . .why?”

  “You were kinda half-smiling and all of a sudden your face went dark.”

  “Thinking about the dead intruder.”

  “Did what you had to do. . .that’s all there is to it.”

  “I get all that. . .but killing someone takes a little getting used to. You ever had to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did it bother you?”

  “No more than necessary. . .just doing my job. Later on, I was angry.”

  “At them? They came out on the short end of the stick, didn’t they?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. . .Glad they ended up dead and not me. I resented the fact they forced me to make the choice. They threatened me or somebody else. . .brought it upon themselves. End of story.”

  “Still think about it?

  “Every time I strap on a weapon. . .And I’ll do it again if I have to.”

  “There’s a saying in the South that some people just need killing. . .We call it draining the gene pool.”

  “True. . .Don’t stop doing your job.”

  “Just don’t want to get too used to killing anybody.”

  He was dressed in casual civilian clothes. The skintight black knit shirt looked like a golf shirt until she noticed the martial arts logo embroidered above the pocket.

  The knit bands on the sleeves were stretched by his bulging biceps and a hint of dark chest hair peeked through the V-neck. It was obvious he worked out and wasn’t afraid to show it.

  She thought of her fiance and the few times she mentioned hitting the gym. John begged off, saying it would reduce his studying time.

  Jake glanced at her and she blushed when she realized she had been caught staring.

  She recovered quickly. “Noticed the martial arts logo. . .That the style you study?”

  “It is. . .Hakkoryu Jujitsu,” he replied.

  “Black belt?”

  “For quite awhile.”

  “Is it a good style?” She realized how dumb the words sounded and could feel her face redden again.

  He either didn’t notice or was being kind. “Studied it for over ten years. . .ideal for our line of work. Takes into account size and strength limitations. . .lets you use your opponent’s force against them, similar to Aikido. Ever watch a Steven Seagall movie?”

  “A lot. . .I loved Under Siege. ” It was the most she ever heard him say at one time that wasn’t connected to police work. “So you take it because you’re small!”

  His smile faded and she choked on her words.

  “Didn’t realize size meant so much to you.” He saw her reaction. “Sorry. . .sounded defensive, didn’t it? But yes, it’s one of the reasons. I’m only five-eight. . .Gives me an edge. . .Just don’t like talking about myself. . .”

  He shifted the focus back to her. “You train?”

  “I do. . .Dad made me take karate classes when I was young so I could defend myself. Plus, I’ve studied at each base I’ve been assigned to. . .Taking Kuk Sul Won from Master Yang.”

  “Good instructor. . .Kuk Sul is very close to what I teach.”

  “Really,” she replied. “Maybe I should take your class, too.”

  “No formal class. . .Just a few friends who work out together. Besides, sounds like what you’re learning works just fine.” He saw a lot of himself in her eagerness to be a good cop. “Maybe we could work out together.”

  He hoped she would say yes—and martial arts wasn’t the only reason. She had a quick mind, easygoing dispositio
n and was pleasant on the eyes.

  “Sounds like a great idea,” she offered. “What do you think’s gonna happen when we find this guy?”

  “No way of knowing. . .Figure he has revenge in mind or maybe some kind of political statement. . .Could be he’s going to plant the bomb and demand a ransom. He’d have a bonus on top of what the government paid.”

  “Could be. . .It’s been done before.”

  OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR, NSA

  WASHINGTON, DC

  Justin Todd, Executive Assistant to the Director, pressed the intercom, “John Banner is on Line 3, sir.”

  The Director had been anticipating the status call from one of the brightest members of his agency and head of the NSA’s West Coast Division. “John, what’s happening at Mather?”

  “Getting more worrisome by the minute, Director. Classified communications from SAF’s office indicate one or more of the perpetrators escaped and are on the run. . .with nukes in hand.”

  “I can confirm that. . .Sat in on an NSC briefing an hour ago. . .everyone’s scratching their heads. We gave them all they asked for and still ended up on the short end of the stick. . .Do we know how they got away?”

  “A clever strategy involving an abandoned mine tunnel and some serious treachery. . .still piecing it together. Glad we have Benson and Johansen on site. . .I’ll send you their report.”

  “That was quick thinking. . .Reminds me why I made you Division Chief.”

  “Thanks, but afraid I have more bad news. . .”

  “Worse news?”

  “They also got away with a BlackStar unit.”

  “God, no!. . .Worst news I’ve heard in a long time. What are we doing about it?”

  “Benson and Johansen are combining with three Air Force people, including our occasional asset, Tupelo, to track them down. Right now there’s no clear indication where the criminals are headed or how many of them there are. . .”

  “Who’s leading the team?”

  “Tupelo. . .figured that was best, given his background. He’s got a hunch Eichner may be heading to Lake Tahoe.”

  “His hunches have paid off before. . .don’t see why we shouldn’t go along with them now.”

  “Agreed, sir.”

  “Good. While I have you on the line, have you thought any more about the multi-service Black Star investigative team we talked about?”

  “It’s a good idea, provided it’s structured to give us double-checks and safeguards.”

  “Noted, John. . .But I don’t want them spying on each other. . .Breeds mistrust.”

  “How would you monitor their performance?”

  “Still kicking that around. . .Call me if you come up with any thing. See you in two weeks, anyway. . .We’ll talk more in depth then.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll call you tomorrow morning with an update.”

  “Call me at home this evening. . .I’m a little wary of my office line.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. There have been a couple of untraceable leaks.”

  “We’re the NSA. . .How could that happen?”

  “Who knows?. . .May be one of my section chiefs or electronic surveillance. . .Hard to tell.”

  “I’ll keep my head on a swivel.”

  “I can always count on you. . .Talk to you later.”

  The line stayed open a second after the call ended.

  Justin hung up the phone and returned to the work on his desk.

  MAJESTIC CASINO HOTEL PARKING LOT

  SOUTH SHORE, LAKE TAHOE, NEVADA

  Rick marveled at how easy it was to get temporary help. A quick call to a local moving and storage company and he had two men and a bobtail truck at his disposal. He asked for men who were familiar with deliveries to the Majestic Casino and was pleasantly surprised to learn that both had been there numerous times.

  They knew the people who handled incoming freight for the casino and belonged to the same union. A few well-placed twenty dollar bills would expedite the delivery even more.

  He watched while they used hand trucks and a winch-driven lifting device to transfer one of the nuclear weapons, safely ensconced in a wooden shipping crate, from the trailer behind the RV to their truck. In minutes, they were ready for the most significant delivery the casino would ever receive.

  “So, what is this thing, anyway?” One of them asked.

  “Piece of experimental theater equipment used to put on a light show.” Which was partially true. . .A light show that would be seen fifty miles away. They’ll have a front row seat.

  “Never seen nothing like it before. . .Too bad we won’t get to see it work.”

  “Who knows? Maybe you will.”

  “Ain’t likely, mister. . .Can’t afford hundred-dollar-a-seat tickets.”

  “Do this job right and maybe you’ll be able to.”

  Forty minutes later they had delivered the crates to the Majestic and were back at the stolen RV. Rick supervised the transfer of the remaining devices from the trailer, as well as the smaller item from the RV.

  They were now safely installed in his getaway rig and ready to go. He motioned the two men over and signed the invoice that would be paid with his construction company credit card. It was one of the last transactions that would ever appear on the card and presented a dead-end for any investigation.

  “I really appreciate the good work you guys did and, like I said earlier, maybe you’ll be able to afford those theater seats.”

  He handed each of them two hundred dollars in cash.

  “Uh, thanks, mister, but that’s a lot of money. . .I mean, we was just doing our job.”

  “You never got a tip before?”

  “Sure, but usually twenty bucks or something. . .not like this.”

  “Consider this your lucky day. I’m in a good mood and besides, it’s tax deductible for my company. . .Enjoy it.” Won’t feel quite as guilty when you ‘re vaporized.

  “Sure will.”

  They grinned at each other.

  They left and Rick grabbed a satchel from the pickup. It was time to do a little gambling and then start his journey to the ranch in Montana. He whistled a happy tune as he strolled across the parking lot.

  BART’S VAN

  CALIFORNIA HIGHWAY 50

  “Been done before?. . .You serious?” Jake asked.

  “As a heart attack,” Joanna answered. “When I was a kid, a guy sneaked a bomb disguised as a copy machine into one of the casinos. . .Demanded ten million bucks.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Nope. . .Other casino owners offered to cover any damage from the blast. Sounds extreme, but they wanted to discourage other criminals from trying to extort them.’

  “What happened?”

  “They evacuated the entire casino hotel, all nine floors. . .It went off as promised. . .blew a whole floor right out of the building! I remember seeing pictures of the mountains taken right through the fifth floor. Everything gone except the concrete pillars. . .Blown away!”

  “Now we’re talking about a bomb that could return the whole Lake Tahoe area to a big glassy crater. . .Like it was during the last Ice Age! Hey, Colonel, won’t this thing go any faster?”

  “Only if it had wings and a jet engine, son.” Bart replied in his slow, southern drawl. “Be there in less than an hour. . .Catch a few winks if you can. . .We’ll need everybody at a hundred percent.”

  Jake settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. Sleep. . .Right. He opened them just enough to notice Joanna surreptitiously watching him. They had talked more about personal things in the last hour than in her entire training time.

  He folded his arms across his chest, sighed, and did his best to catch a quick nap as they drew closer to one of the most beautiful mountain lakes in the world.

  The gray mist swirled around him like it always did in the dream, but this time it was different. It usually started with him standing in the middle of an intersection, trying to decide which way to go. He had already moved down the stree
t toward the curve at the end. He heard faint rustling noises in the mist and detected the scent of unwashed bodies.

  They were still after him, but the guy-wire taut tension was subdued and the premonition of impending doom was weaker.

  He became aware, as usual, that he was not alone. The figure standing next to him was not hooded though, and did not produce a sense of anxiety.

  He turned his head to identify his ally when the van hit a bump in the road and he awoke with a start.

  “You okay?” asked Joanna

  “Yeah, “Guess I was dreaming.”

  “Must have been a nightmare. . .Your heart is pounding!”

  She was holding his hand to comfort him. It felt good and he waited a moment before he let his hand fall away.

  “No big deal. . .recurring nightmare. . .Guess the tension brought it out.”

  “It’s okay. . .Like my mama always says, daylight chases away demons of the night.”

  “I like that.” He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but was startled again when Bart went around a curve and braked hard.

  SOUTH SHORE LODGE

  LAKE TAHOE, CALIFORNIA

  Nora stopped at the office long enough to let the clerk confirm her identity, then drove half a mile along a road that was a game trail for deer that wandered through the resort.

  She parked in front of a cabin that was perfectly designed to hide its clandestine features. It looked like the other dozen or so structures hidden in the towering pines, but was actually a virtual fortress. A stone path that led to the front door had sensors to detect any approaching person. Hidden security cameras constantly scanned the area and the front stoop was hinged to drop offending visitors into a dungeon-like pit.

  The scent of evergreen mixed with the musty smell of pine needles that covered the ground around the cabin greeted her like an old friend as she strolled to the door.

  Three quick knocks, followed by four more elicited movement from inside. A gray-haired man in his early sixties opened the door just wide enough to peer out and ask, “What can I do for you?”

  “John here?”

  “Guess you didn’t hear. . .He fell on a hiking path and broke his leg. . .Had to return to the Bay Area.”

  “Thought he broke both legs and went to his mother’s house in Fresno. . .”