BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  He pointed to a couple of crates sitting at the side of the stage. “Delivery guys said it was delicate electronics stuff…not to mess around with it. In fact, the head guy was darn near nasty about it…treated me like I was some kinda redhead stepchild that don’t know no English!”

  “Thanks, pardner.” Bart reached the crates first and took note of the rubber-coated cable that led from one to another. It was thick and appeared to be either a power or control cable, or both. The crates were of a simple wooden design, similar to those used to ship cargo, except the top and sides were held together with screws instead of nails.

  The shipping labels appeared to be genuine, although cleaner than he would have expected if the crates had been trucked in. There were markings on all sides that said Fragile, Handle With Extreme Care!

  “We need a Phillips!”

  Jake unzipped a side pants pocket, extracted a tool kit and opened it to show a variety of hand tools, including a ratcheting screwdriver that held an assortment of tips of various sizes. He selected a Phillips-head that looked like it would fit and handed it to Bart, who went to work on the first crate.

  Jake pulled a Swiss Army knife out of still another pocket, selected the larger of two Phillips-heads and started to undo the screws on the lid of the other crate.

  The others set to work assisting in whatever way they could. Johansen used a sat phone to update Colonel Jackson on the progress of the search while Benson quietly questioned the stagehand about the description of the man who delivered the crate. He positively identified Eichner from a casino surveillance photo.

  “You men secure the area,” Joe yelled to his men. No idea what’s in these things…Highly classified…Could be explosive.

  The owner of the casino had directed him to provide any support that was needed and that was all he needed to know. Besides, it was a matter of national security and he knew that most questions would go unanswered.

  His men quickly secured the theater and turned the lighting up to allow Bart and Jake to work on the crates. The radio in Joe’s pocket crackled with an urgent message. “Hey, Colonel, finally got some good news!”

  “About time, Joe. Could use some grins and giggles…”

  “Gambler leaving the back parking lot reported a suspicious RV…Somebody banging on the inside. My guys found an old couple bound and gagged in the bathroom…Shaken up and bruised a little, but otherwise okay. Showed them a picture of that Eichner guy…They say he’s the one who kidnapped them and drove their RV here.”

  “Great news…Glad they weren’t hurt. They know anything about some equipment Eichner might’ve had with him?”

  “That’s where it gets a little crazy…Said he kept mumbling stuff about nuclear warheads and turning Tahoe into a big hole in the ground…Sounds like they’re in shock to me…There’s an empty cargo trailer he hooked to the back of their RV…Big enough to carry a number of crates like this.”

  “Looks like he’s given us the slip…Anyway, can’t worry about that right now…Need to deactivate this bad boy sooner instead of later.”

  Bart bent back over the crate and resumed his task. The theater was colder than he usually preferred, but that didn’t stop beads of sweat from running into his eyes. He wiped them away with his sleeve and worked feverishly to gain access to whatever was inside.

  He was the first to release the top on his crate—Jake was only a few seconds behind him. Bart stood up. “Wait, just a dadgum minute! We’re not EOD…This could blow up in our faces!”

  Anthony flinched at EOD. “A bomb? I thought this was top-secret comm gear that might interfere with the casino’s computer systems.” He wondered if he should contact Mister DePasquale, the casino manager. “Excuse me, Colonel, should we evacuate the building?”

  Bart sighed heavily and shook his head. “Wouldn’t do a bit of good…No car’s fast enough to outrun this if it goes off. You’ve done all you can…except maybe pray.”

  Anthony’s knees went weak. Is it nuclear? He wondered if he should call his wife, but knew she was only minutes away and could not outrun it either. “Do you have any idea about when…”

  He was interrupted by Jay Johansen, “Hate to sound nervous…You looked at the remote lately?”

  Bart did and replied, “Eighteen minutes, fifty-two seconds left…What’s your point?”

  “Might be a good idea to get back to it…The technicians say they’ve never worked with a version of this device that’s been tampered with…May need all the wiggle room we can get.”

  CIA SAFE HOUSE OFFICE

  SOUTH SHORE LODGE

  The night clerk/agent tried desperately to stretch out his arm, hoping to avoid another blow from the pistol butt. His fingers fluttered and he couldn’t hold his hand more than a foot off the floor.

  The other hand held an ink pen, as if he was ready to check them in. He sat propped against the back wall behind the counter of the ersatz motel office. Blood from a sucking chest wound ran down the center of his body and formed a puddle between his legs. “I can’t help you…”

  His words were weak and the two figures in SWAT team gear crouched on either side of him leaned in closer to hear.

  He waited until they were mere inches from him. “Your luck’s run out, shit heads.” He pressed the button on the ink pen and two ounces of C-4 were ignited by the piezoelectric spark.—not enough to bring the walls down, but more than enough to mortally wound anybody within six feet of the blast.

  The counter was blown over and the explosion ignited two of the smoke grenades carried on the bulletproof vests of the Consortium hit-men. Within seconds the small office was filled with a choking fog that carried the stench of sulfur and lent a yellow color to the cloud.

  Another figure tried to push his way through the twisted door and realized his two team-members were beyond assistance. He spun around to check the area for other operatives and came face-to-face with Ken Sobinak. He was raising his weapon, but stopped when he felt the barrel of a firearm prod him under the chin.

  The owner spoke in low tones that were barely audible, “Twitch an eyelid and I’ll paint the ceiling with your brains…clear?”

  “You got the gun…you’re the boss.”

  “Glad you understand that,” said Ken. “How many on your team?”

  “Team…What team?”

  Ken rolled his eyes. “Five…four…”

  “No, wait! Six…including the two in there.” He nodded toward the demolished office.

  “Who sent you?”

  “Don’t know…”

  “Three…two…”

  “I’m not lying. We get our orders from Peters…Don’t tell us who’s paying.”

  Sobiniak kept the pistol under the henchman’s chin and eased back a little. “You know you’re going to give me answers…The question is how painful it’ll be.”

  A look of genuine fear showed on his face. “Gimme a break, okay?…I do what I’m told…Don’t ask…they don’t tell…Easier all around. Get my drift?”

  Ken lowered the suppressed machine pistol and shot the now cowering figure in the leg. He shoved a forearm into the injured man’s mouth to mute the forming scream.

  A copious stream of blood immediately began to flow. “Look, Einstein, you need to remember who’s holding the weapon. The bullet severed your femoral artery…You’re going to bleed out in a few short minutes, pal. Tell me what I need to know and I’ll put a tourniquet on it. Otherwise…kiss your ass goodbye.”

  The wounded man’s eyes went wide and his muffled words indicated he was willing to cooperate. Ken slowly moved his arm away. “Now, who sent you and what were they after?”

  The reply was squeezed through pain-clenched teeth, “Some dude called the Commissioner…”

  “What’s the mission objective?”

  “Kidnap some female op…Picture in my vest pocket.”

  Ken carefully lifted the pocket flap, removed the photo and turned it over. He stared at a decade-old blurry image of a women in a b
usiness suit. He wasn’t positive, but it looked like Delta.

  The realization she was the target changed his priorities in a flash. He released the other man and turned to leave.

  “Hey, we had a deal,” the wounded man said. “You know, tourniquet…”

  “You’ve got a belt…Do it yourself.”

  “What if I can’t get it tight enough?”

  “You die.”

  MAJESTIC CASINO THEATER

  Bart and Jake crouched down and lifted the tops from the crate just enough to check for wires or sensors.

  “Don’t see any obvious booby traps,” Bart noted as he moved his penlight around the slight opening. “Let’s slide the tops off…Damn, son, wires and precision parts all over the place…Looks like I got the grand prize.”

  “And I got the consolation prize,” Jake countered. “Some sort of power supply setup…Now what?”

  “Beats me all to hell.” Bart rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe the spooks can help.” He pointed to Benson and Johansen and motioned for them to move closer.

  Mary turned to the stagehand. “Please wait in the lobby, if you don’t mind.”

  Jay finished his call and joined the group. “The eggheads say there are only a couple of ways Eichner could’ve rigged the bomb. Since they don’t know exactly what he did…They say we need to cut power to the timer only.”

  “What if they’re wrong? Thought they were supposed to be the experts…They know what they’re talking about? ”

  “No clue…I’m just passing along what they said,” Jay shot back. “Won’t have to worry about it for very long…The clock is ticking.”

  “True on both points,” Bart responded in a calm voice. “Since we don’t know how to cut power to just the timer, seems to me we have three options. We can do nothing and the bomb goes off. We cut the cable and if we’re wrong…the bomb goes off. Last, and hopefully best, we cut the cable…Bomb doesn’t go off.

  “Two out of three ways, the whole lake and half the mountains around here disappear in a blinding flash…Odds seem to be in favor of cutting the cable.”

  He moved closer to the crate and was greeted with 5 minutes and 12 seconds. “You’re definitely right about one thing, though…running out of time. Anybody got a better idea?”

  They stood mute, so Bart continued, “Guess we cut the cable…So how in God’s name do we do it? Puppy’s almost as thick as my arm…Sure won’t do it with a pocketknife.”

  The cable was as thick as a flashlight, and covered with a tough-looking rubber coating. Bart doubted that even his razor sharp combat knife could cut through it fast enough to prevent a stray signal from reaching the bomb. “Doesn’t look like armored cable, which is good…Do we have anything big enough to cut it?”

  They looked frantically at each other, as if one of them might pull bolt cutters out of their back pocket.

  Joanna Davies threw her hands out in front of her. “Wait! I know…a fire ax…If there’s one around.”

  “Found one!” Benson yelled from behind the stage curtain moments after a frantic search ensued. She rolled her suit jacket around her elbow, smashed the glass front, grabbed the ax and ran over to the crates.

  Bart looked around. “Guess it won’t do any good to tell everybody to clear the area.”

  He swung the ax in a high arc over his head and brought it down as hard as he could on the cable, which parted with a flash. Winfield staggered back from the stench of ozone and burnt rubber and waved the smoke away from his face…

  COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE

  CONSORTIUM HEADQUARTERS

  “What do you mean, the mission is falling apart? Explain!” the Commissioner roared into the phone.

  Bernard Bergstrom, Acting Director of North American Operations for the Consortium was sweating profusely, in spite of the air conditioning in his office in Toronto.

  It felt like the Commissioner could reach through the phone and choke him. He pushed the image from his mind and stuttered a reply, “I am in communication with Sparks…He says two of his team members have been killed and he is severely wounded.”

  “What about the other half of the team?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Tell the team leader to terminate Sparks, per protocol and have him call me directly with an assessment of the situation.”

  “That’s not possible, sir…Sparks says Jim Guidot is dead…A wounded CIA agent set off an explosive device and killed two of the team.”

  “Guidot was one of our best…What manner of incompetent fools did you send with him?” It was an indictment, not a question.

  “One recent trainee,” BB replied. “The rest were well-seasoned operatives…”

  “We’ll discuss it later. In the meantime, what are you doing to salvage the operation?

  “I’ve ordered the backup team to get there as soon as possible. Weather conditions have cleared in the area and they will be able to helicopter in. They’re thirty minutes away.”

  “Good…You may redeem yourself yet,” the Commissioner replied in a sarcastic tone. I expect hourly updates and, for your sake, hope the backup team can complete what I thought was a simple abduction.”

  “But, sir,” Bergstrom haltingly replied, “It is, after all, a CIA Safe House with a trained crew of operatives. You, yourself expected casualties…”

  “One death, perhaps, and some minor injuries…Not a dead team leader and two other operatives unavailable. The thought of only two team members and a trainee left to secure the safe house is unsettling.”

  “I understand…but unfortunate occurrences can happen in a hastily assembled op…Surely, you must know that.”

  “What I know is you have not performed to expectations. I may need to consider a demotion…or worse, if this operation fails.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Commissioner,” BB pleaded. “I have been a faithful member…”

  “That will be a factor in my decision,” the Commissioner noted. “I have other missions to monitor…Call me in an hour with good news.”

  MAJESTIC CASINO THEATER

  They stood frozen in place. Bart looked down into the crate. The numbers on the timer had dimmed considerably, but the count continued down through 4 minutes and 14 seconds. “It’s still going! Jay, ask your so-called experts what the hell’s going on!”

  Jay spoke frantically into the phone while they anxiously waited.

  “Tell ‘em to get a move on…”

  “Can’t tell them anything…They’re arguing with each other, trying to figure out why it’s still ticking.”

  Bart rubbed his hands through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “Power’s coming from somewhere, like a battery, maybe.”

  They leaned over the crate and concentrated on the contents. A smoothly polished cylinder dominated the device, with control wires running from it to the molded box at the other end that contained the timer.

  The steady march of numbers passed down through 3 minutes and 15 seconds and the smell of desperation hung heavily in the theater.

  Bart was so absorbed with the timer itself he had not paid much attention to the small black box attached to the back of the timer. “Hey, Jake, does that look like one of the batteries we use in our field radios?”

  “Sure does,” Jake’s face lit up. “Red and black wires lead over to the timer…Gotta be the back-up. Let’s cut them!”

  “Whoa, there, son…Might not be the best way to go. Let’s wait and see what the so-called experts come up with. Although, Nora has her own definition of an expert…She says an “ex” is a has-been and a “spurt” is a drip under pressure.”

  The joke brought only a wan smile from the others. “Tough crowd,” Bart commented.

  A few of them laughed at that and Joanna spoke up, “This close to being vaporized tends to dampen your sense of humor, sir. I’m not worried, though…If anybody can figure this out, Colonel, I’d put my money on you.”

  “I’ll second that,” Jake chimed in.
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br />   “Me, too,” Mary added.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Bart answered. “Jay, what’s the word?”

  Jay shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the phone. His expression said it all.

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Jake finally said. “Let’s cut the wires…Worked before…ought to work again.”

  “Again, let’s not be hasty,” Bart answered. “We’re all frustrated, but maybe we need to step back…Shouldn’t take another big chance ‘til we at least hear from them.”

  He leaned over the crate and the numbers faintly marked 2 minutes and 49 seconds before detonation.

  They froze in position and waited for a cue. Tension in the room seemed to lend a yellow haze to everything and the seconds ticked by like hours.

  Johansen finished the conversation with a perplexed look. “Can’t seem to agree with each other. First, they tell me to disconnect any battery we find…Then they say that might release the control rods and set the thing off. Don’t seem to have a clue…Think we’re pretty much on our own.”

  “Of course we are,” Mary Benson added sarcastically. “They’re a thousand miles away and will probably wake up in the morning without a mushroom cloud hanging over them. Almost out of time and looks like a coin toss is the best chance we’ve got!”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” said Bart. “One way or the other, we’re gonna have to do something…Timer says 2 minutes and 31 seconds. What’s it gonna be, y’all?…Red wire or black?”

  Joe walked up behind the group. “Why not both?”

  “Cut them together…” Bart replied. “…could get a tiny surge that’d reset the timer to zero…Probably has capacitors built in that store enough energy to trigger the bomb after the power’s cut. Cut one wire…lets those capacitors discharge harmlessly.”

  “Wow, Colonel,” Joanna commented, “You sure do know an awful lot about nuclear weapons!”

  “Not really…” Bart grinned. “Saw it in a movie.”

  “I’m no rocket scientist or expert, for that matter,” Jake said. “But if it’s like a car…Red wire is hot and black is ground. Cut the black wire first…It might have enough power to detonate.”