BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  The man swung the door open, revealing a MAC-10 pistol in his right hand. “Come on in, we were expecting you. I’m Ken Sobiniak, head of the security detail.”

  “Guess you already know who I am.”

  “Yes, indeed, Agent Delta, but I heard you retired some time ago.”

  “I did, but you know this business. . .agents never completely retire. Been doing background research for the Agency on a freelance basis.”

  “And I run this place. . .Don’t take active missions anymore.”

  “Me neither, except when it’s critical. You worked in the Far East when I was active, didn’t you?”

  “Suppose that’s why we never ran into each other in person. Let’s get you settled in. . .Had dinner?”

  “No. . .rushed up here as soon as I could. Any other guests?”

  “Just me and three guards. . .You can come out now, guys.”

  Two men stopped out from behind partially closed bedroom doors and walked toward her with hands extended. The taller of the two reached her first and grinned as he spoke, “It’s an honor to meet you, Delta!.”

  “An honor?”

  “You’re a legend in the Agency. . .Some of your missions are used in the academy.”

  “Didn’t know that. . .”

  “Indeed they are,” the other agent chimed in. “Your solution to the Borgenson Exercise was brilliant.”

  “That old paper? I’m surprised they still include it in the curriculum. I thought there were three of you. . .”

  A paneled section of the living room wall held a mirror with a rough-pine frame. The four-foot section swung back to reveal a passageway beyond, and a swarthy young man stepped out holding a short, drum-fed street-sweeper automatic 12 ga. shotgun. His voice was deep and softer than she would have expected.

  “Please to meet you, ma’am, I’m Denny Palumbo.”

  “Ma’am? Boy, do I feel old. . .”

  “No offense intended. . .Actually, after all the stories I’ve heard. . .you’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be.”

  “Well, thank you. . .You redeemed yourself, lucky you. . . Back to the business at hand. . .I’m not being chased and don’t think I was followed. Just looking for a place to hang out until my husband gets here.”

  “He also an agent?” Asked Jack, the tall one.

  “Not exactly. . .Lieutenant Colonel in the Air Force. . .On some business over at the casinos.”

  “Casinos? Strange place for a military guy to be doing business.” The comment came from Toby, the smaller agent.

  “Not really. . .”

  “How about we get Delta’s luggage for her?” Sobiniak interrupted. It was a command, not a request.

  “This one piece is all I have, Ken,” she replied. “Only be here for a day or two.”

  “Wish I could get my wife to pack that light,” Denny commented. “Almost takes a trailer to hold all her stuff, even for a weekend.”

  “In her defense, this was a last-minute thing. . .didn’t have time to plan ahead,” Nora noted. “Now, I haven’t been here in years, but I seem to remember a couple of bedrooms down that corridor.” She pointed to the hidden tunnel from which Denny had emerged.

  “Three, actually,” Denny corrected. “One is for two guards, the other two are for subjects. . .er, guests. . .Don’t have windows and they share a bathroom.”

  “Fine with me. I don’t need to see out and Bart will take the other guest room, if that’s okay.” She directed the question to Ken.

  “Don’t see why not,” he answered. “Have a subject coming in four days. . .Clear until then.”

  “That will work out fine.” Nora smiled. “Now, if you don’t mind. . .Think I’ll go to my room and call my husband.”

  “Have to make the call out here.” Ken looked at the radio she was carrying. “Guest rooms are built into the hillside. . .don’t get signals and we don’t put phones in them. That’s a secure line.”

  He pointed to a multi-line phone on an end-table next to a wooden couch with plaid cushions. “We’ll go into the kitchen while you make your call.” The others followed him out of the room.

  ***

  CHAPTER 15

  CONCORDIA CASINO

  STATELINE, NEVADA

  Bart Winfield was no stranger to casinos. He had been in half a dozen around the world and they all had the same nerve jangling, sweaty smell of desperation scented with stale cigarette smoke. He walked down two steps and found himself in the middle of the one-armed bandits. A right turn and forty-foot walk through rows of slot machines gave him a clear view of the craps and blackjack tables.

  “Eichner seems to prefer table games,” he said to Jay Johansen as he walked beside him. “Spotted by security here and two other casinos from faxed copies of his driver’s license and a sketched image Bill Johnson described to a police artist. . .Triggered memories of a man who spent way too much time scoping out security arrangements.”

  “Yeah, saw stills from the security footage,” Jay replied. “Nondescript comes to mind. . .Average height, weight, build. . .Brown hair. . .brown eyes. Would’ve slipped by unnoticed except for that habit of studying security. . .Was warned about not taking pictures. . .That put him on a citywide alert list.”

  Dealers remembered him asking about blackjack table procedures, like the schedule for swapping out deck shoes. They alerted their pit bosses who let ceiling security know. Pictures were taken of Eichner for future reference and a file was opened.

  Once he caught the attention of the security pros, information was traded with other casinos through an unofficial network that cooperated like antibodies attempting to rid a body of infection.

  In seeking to protect their businesses, they provided information that would have taken weeks to uncover using conventional police techniques.

  Jay worked to keep up with Bart’s long strides as he moved into the middle of the gaming action. Jake and Joanna were checking out another casino with Benson. Bart’s earpiece crackled. “Sergeant Thomas to Colonel Winfield, over.”

  “Like I said, call me Bart while we’re on this assignment.”

  “Yes, sir. Airman. . .I mean, Joanna and I’ve been through most of the Majestic. . .Not a trace. Coming out of the elevator at the eleventh floor high-roller casino, over.”

  “Roger that. . .We’re in the Concordia. Meet you at Harrah’s if we don’t find him here. . .Don’t see how he could’ve gotten too far though, over.”

  “Wait a minute, sir. . .Think I spotted him in an enclosed room at the back. . .Can’t be sure. . .window reflections blocking my view.”

  They walked a little further and Jake keyed the mike again. “Ninety-nine percent sure it’s him. He can see us, but can’t hear what we’re saying.”

  “Stay back as far as you can without losing contact,” Bart replied. “Don’t want to spook him. . .May’ve planted a bomb and have a remote trigger. . .Bless his little heart, wouldn’t want to kill him for looking at us the wrong way, now would we?”

  “Ain’t that the truth. . .” Joanna added in a southern accent.

  Bart continued, “Besides, we want a chance to ask him some questions. I’ll contact the brass at your location. . .let them know what’s going on. Any other way out of there?”

  There was a pause while Jake talked to somebody. “Security guy says a side door to an auxiliary grill, but they have a couple of men covering it from inside the kitchen. He’s in the process of notifying their people on the overhead catwalk. I told them to be discrete. Damn it! Three more just got off the elevator. They’re sending in too many people all at once. . .Eichner will make them for sure. What do you want us to do?”

  “All right, just stay calm. . .Take it slow and easy. . .Try to contain the situation before he sees what’s going on.”

  “Too late. . .Eichner’s staring right past me toward the elevator and knows it’s not routine. . .Not half-a-dozen guys in suits showing up at the same time. We need you here ASAP!”

  “On my way, son,
over.”

  “We’ll wait right here,” was all Jake could think of to say. “And hope this doesn’t blow up in our faces. Subject’s looking spooked. . .”

  “Again, keep it under control, hear?”

  “Do my best, sir. . .over and out.”

  The quiet hum of the fifth floor casino turned to complete bedlam in less than a minute. Eichner saw security gathering in the elevator lobby and tried to leave through the kitchen door.

  He turned away when he saw two casino security men in the kitchen through a small window in the door. A quick glance toward the main entrance showed Jake, Joanna and the other security people moving from the elevator toward the glass doors that led into the private card lounge.

  The realization he was trapped brought a frenzied look of desperation to his face. He pulled a pistol out of his waistband and fired a shot into the ceiling. At the same time, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a device that looked like a radio.

  “Nobody move!” he shouted. “This is a remote control for the mother of all bombs! Move any closer and I’ll vaporize everything for five miles!”

  Every person in the room froze where they stood. Only their eyes moved, darting from Eichner’s rage-distorted face to the device he held and then to each other. Cigar butts dropped from mouths that hung open and drinks fell to the plush carpet as frightened patrons lost their grip on drink glasses.

  The waiter stood like a statue with a tray held above his head. A palpable sense of fear clung to every surface and person in the room.

  Eichner moved backward to the windows that lined the outside wall of the casino.

  “Get somebody in here to negotiate with me!” he yelled at nobody in particular.

  Nobody moved. A middle-aged gambler mumbled, “Whadda ya want us to do, man?. . .We’re only tourists.”

  Finally, the waiter, who stood the closest to Eichner, spoke, “Can I get you anything, sir?”

  “What?” Rick looked at the waiter like he was insane. “What the hell do you mean, can you get me anything?”

  CIA SAFE HOUSE AT SOUTH SHORE LODGE

  Nora picked up the phone, dialed her coded ID and was connected to a communications center in San Francisco.”

  “Confirm ID,” a voice at the other end demanded.

  “Delta ID 416233 Whiskey, Foxtrot, Alpha requesting a radio link.”

  “Confirmed. . .say the frequency and encryption key.”

  She gave them the necessary information and a few minutes later heard the background hiss of a satellite radio signal.

  The satellite phone in Bart’s pocket buzzed and he answered, “Colonel Winstead.”

  A couple of clicks later, Nora’s voice came through with the alien quality of an encrypted call.

  “Baby, can you hear me?”

  “Scrambled a little, but yes.”

  “I’m at the South Shore Lodge under my old code name.”

  “As Delta?”

  “I said I’d be here the last time. . .”

  “You already got here?”

  “You said to get out of town, so I grabbed my go bag and boogied.”

  “Right. . .Sorry. . .got a lot on my mind right now. This isn’t good. . .You need to turn around and go back home.”

  “Okay, now I’m thoroughly confused. First you want me to leave town. . .now you want me to go back. What’s going on?”

  “Can’t say. . .even on a secure line. Trust me, you don’t want to be here.”

  “But I am and I’m too tired to drive back. It’s safe here and I have a nice warm bed waiting for you when you’re done.”

  “Don’t know when that’ll be and if something goes wrong. . .

  might be over in a flash.”

  “Doesn’t change what I said before. . .I want to be with you no matter what.”

  “Can’t talk you out of staying?”

  “Not likely. . .Think of it as incentive. Save the world and I’ll be waiting with open arms. Anything I can do to help?”

  “No. . .Rather have you there. You staying in the guest room?”

  “Yes. . .I like the idea of the cave behind it.”

  “Could come in handy, depending on what happens. Matter of fact. . .might want to stay back there as much as you can. . .Just as comfortable and it might be safer in the mountain.”

  “I’ll keep the news on. . . .Go finish what you’re doing and get over here.”

  “Roger that, little darlin’. . .love you.”

  PREFERRED PLAYERS LOUNGE

  MAJESTIC CASINO

  “What I meant, sir, was can I get you a drink or something?”

  “No, you idiot!” was Eichner’s terse reply. “What I want is whoever is in charge of this dump!”

  The waiter shrunk back. “Sorry, dude. . .Just trying to make things a little easier. . .”

  Eichner eyed him a little closer. “Wait. . .Somebody who’s cooperating. That’s more like it. Tell you what, Champ. . .Go lock those doors. Shove everybody out who’s standing near them and make sure those three don’t come in.”

  He pointed toward Jake, Joanna and Mary Benson. “They look like trouble. . .Get those security thugs out of here, too. Make everybody else sit down and get them something to drink. . .But only one. Don’t want some drunken wannabe hero dying and screwing things up. . .And get me a telephone!”

  The waiter set the tray down on a table and stepped in one direction, then another. He finally settled on moving toward the door and gestured at the group standing near it.

  He assumed the haughty air of a maître d’, which is what he hoped to be someday. “All right, you heard the man. . .Move outside the doors. . .Come on now. . .hurry, hurry. . .hurry.”

  The group standing near the door had no choice. They slowly stepped back far enough to allow him to close the double glass doors in their face. Eichner bellowed a muffled command and the waiter turned the lock on the door.

  Joanna leaned close to Jake. “Okay, now what?”

  Jake keyed his radio mike. “Thomas to Winfield, over.”

  “This is Bart, over.”

  “It just went down the toilet. . .Eichner’s taken hostages and cleared the room of all security, including us. We’re in the elevator lobby. What’s your twenty, over?”

  “Just came through the front door of the casino headin’ toward the elevator. On the way up, but don’t wait. I want you on the catwalk in the ceiling. . .assuming there is one.”

  “Roger that. . .Davies and Benson will brief you.

  He turned to one of the hotel security men. “Excuse me, is there a ceiling catwalk in there?”

  The security man nodded.

  “Okay, great,” Jake said. “I need to be above him as soon as possible.”

  The security man pulled a radio out of his casino blazer and less than a minute later said, “Follow me, please.”

  Jake glanced over his shoulder through the glass doors. Eichner was pacing back and forth. His forehead glistened with sweat and he clutched the remote control with white knuckles.

  He looked up in time to lock eyes with Jake and snarled at him.

  It wasn’t a good idea to taunt Eichner, but he couldn’t help raising his hand and pointing at the madman with his thumb up, like he was holding a gun.

  He mouthed the words, “I’m coming for you!”

  Eichner slapped his chest with the pistol and yelled back, “Bring it on!”

  Jake turned away and followed the casino security man.

  “Soon,” he mumbled.

  A few minutes later Jake carefully slid a ceiling tile aside far enough to see Eichner below, sitting in one of the plush arm chairs. His eyes were still adjusting to the semi-darkness and the air smelled like a musty attic. He knelt on the catwalk and got as close to the opening as he could.

  Two security men crouched behind him on the platform.

  One of them leaned toward Jake. “What’s the plan?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied. “Ask the guys in th
e control room what’s happening down there.”

  “They say he tipped over some of the tables to form a barricade. . .Sitting with his back to the windows watching the main doors.”

  “Where’s the remote?”

  “In his lap.”

  Jake slowly backed up the catwalk, forcing the security men to duck walk behind him. They backed through the fire wall door and quietly closed it.

  He keyed his mike. “Colonel, this is Jake. I was above Eichner a minute ago, over.”

  “What did you see?”

  “He’s sitting in front of the outside windows with the curtains closed.”

  “What are our options?” Bart asked.

  “Couple of possibilities. First is an explosive entry through the windows behind Eichner. . .But, he’d have too much time to react and press the button on that remote. Sniper shot from a chopper outside the windows is a no go. . .Heavy curtains mean no visual. No infrared either, since there are others near him. Final option is a drop out of the ceiling.”

  “Roger that,” Bart replied. “Timing would have to be perfect, though. . .We’d have to get hold of the remote before he could press the button. Real chancy. . .could turn into a disaster in a flash, if you’ll pardon the bad pun.”

  “Reminds me of training exercises where you start out with an easy sweep of a building,” Jake commented. “Then add a bunch of variables. . .like throwing in a sympathetic hostage or a snarling dog to complicate things until it’s totally out of control.”

  “Really love chaos, don’t you?” Bart replied.

  “I do love a challenge. . .Look forward to everything going to pieces. That’s when I feel most alive.

  “Well, son, I’d say we’re almost there. . .Some of the most pristine real estate in the country and a few hundred thousand folks vaporized raises the stakes to an unheard of level. . .Should pump your adrenaline off the chart.”

  “Not about the rush, sir. . .It’s the precision. Plan so that, no matter what, it all comes out as close to perfect as you can get. . .Right down to the smallest detail.”

  “Always wondered what made you tick.”

  “A job well-done. . .That’s all I need.”