BlackStar Bomber

by T C Miller

  Benson grabbed her notes and headed for the door with Johansen closely behind her.

  The Director addressed the section chiefs, “I want one hundred percent of our assets available to them, since this is a major event in the agency’s history. . .I won’t tolerate even the smallest of screw-ups. Anyone who doesn’t feel up to the task should have their resignation on my desk within the hour. . .Understood?”

  Heads nodded, and the director turned to his assistant to discuss his appointment calendar for the rest of the day.

  Benson pushed the elevator button.

  Jay leaned toward her and said in a near-whisper, “Tell me again, why we’re including the Air Force people?”

  “The Director said to.”

  “I know. . .But why is he insisting?”

  “Because he can. . .You heard what I heard. I just don’t feel like being a wet-nurse to some junior spy wannabes.”

  “Understood, but they did a pretty good job in Tahoe, you know, considering their lack of experience. . .”

  “Didn’t call them inexperienced,” she replied. “We know Thomas’ background and the Colonel handled the bomb like a pro. . .strong, steady and confident.

  “What have you dug up on him?”

  “Not a whole lot. . .In fact, I pretty much hit a brick wall . . .”

  “Brick wall? We should be able to access any file at any level. . .We’re the freakin’ NSA!”

  “Not when it’s “Eyes Only.”

  “By which agency?”

  “POTUS.”

  He turned toward her with eyebrows raised. “The President put a lock on his file?”

  “That’s right. . .at least for a good chunk of this guy’s Air Force career. Not even redacted. . .Simply doesn’t exist. Like he was dead at certain times.”

  “How does his Air Force record account for those times?”

  “Says he was on special assignment to the Secretary of the Air Force. Except when I checked SAF’s files there wasn’t anything to see.”

  “Why would POTUS pull him into his circle and classify it so high?”

  “No idea. . .Apparently more than one occupant of the White House has done it. We’re talking about work spread out over seventeen years. . .Ops files that are locked up tight on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Who is this guy, anyway?”

  “Who knows? I get the feeling the Director does. . .Maybe that’s why he told us to read the Colonel in on some of our most sensitive info. . .He’ll crucify us if we don’t.”

  “True. . .Look what happened to Brennan and Davis.”

  “Got what they deserved. . .You don’t take a weekend off in Jamaica in the middle of an op and then try to cover it up.”

  “Think he’ll ever let them work in the field again.?”

  “Not likely.”

  The elevator chimed and they stepped in. Thankfully, there was no music playing. Benson touched the button for the fourth floor. “Would be nice to have a weekend off now and then. . .Guess that’s not going to happen.”

  “Probably not,” Jay replied. “What do you think about working with the Air Force people?”

  “Doesn’t really matter, does it?. . .Got no choice.”

  “Can they keep up?”

  “After Tahoe, I’d say yes. . .Seem pretty sharp. Actually, truth be told, I’ll look forward to working with them. . .Might take some of the pressure off us.”

  “Losing your drive?”

  “No. . .Stronger than ever. . .Just like to have a day or two off every once and a while.”

  “Would be a nice change. . .and you never know. . .Might pick up a new perspective from them. . .different set of eyes and all that.”

  “Could be. . .stranger things have happened. . .”

  CONSORTIUM HEADQUARTERS

  CENTRAL EUROPE

  “Must I remind you the Commission is not accustomed to failure?” The question was mostly rhetorical in nature.

  “No, Herr Commissioner, of course not,” replied Dieter Manheim, Deputy Commissioner of Operations. “We are seeking a more detailed examination of the failed mission. . .It appears that a team of intelligence agents headed by the American agent Tupelo. . .”

  A look of scorn came over the Commissioner’s face. “Tupelo dropped out of sight years ago. . .The identification must be flawed. Redouble your efforts.”

  “But sir, we examined surveillance recordings from the casino where the bomb was planted. There are over two thousand people on it and we excluded all but a handful.”

  He handed the Commissioner a still photograph taken from the casino recording. “This man seems to be the most likely candidate. It is not as clear as I would like and he may have undergone reconstructive surgery. . .”

  “A logical assumption,” the Commissioner interrupted as he examined the photo. It does look like Tupelo. “Do we have any corroborating evidence?”

  “Our technicians managed to isolate his voice and compare it to a telephone conversation you had during the incident in London some years ago. . .It seems to be a close match according to our algorithms.”

  “But not exact?”

  “Given the conditions under which the conversations were recorded and the subsequent elapse of time. . .I would not expect it to be perfect. . .It was, however, close enough to be worrisome.”

  The Commissioner rose from his chair and turned his back on Dieter to stare out the window. He spoke after a lengthy pause, “I do not worry excessively about one man. If Tupelo has resurfaced, he would be part of the overall equation, but not the ultimate threat.”

  Dieter noted the dismissive tone. “How do you want the matter concluded, sir?”

  “Look further into the incident, but do it quietly. I do not want our veracity to be questioned and it might eventually prove to be a case of mistaken identity. I doubt that Tupelo knew I was observing him in Vienna. It seems unlikely he would surface after years of inactive service. . .and why now?”

  “I do not have the answers. However, I have dispatched an agent masquerading as a member of the Nevada Gambling Commission to make inquiries at the casino. Perhaps we can backtrack through his current cover story to gain some insight into his true identity.”

  “Good thinking, as usual. . .If it was indeed Tupelo, it might change the nature of a select number of our operations. In fact, the first impact would be on Eichner’s mission and how deeply it may have been compromised. . .Speaking of him, where was he headed after the debacle at the casino?”

  “We have not been in touch with him since the incident. Our Mafia clients are profoundly worried the attack came so close to succeeding and are making inquiries about Eichner and his background. I suppose they might somehow discover his connection to the Consortium. How do you wish to handle that aspect?”

  “It is possible they may find clues to his relationship with us, but no matter. I will call DePasquale and explain that Eichner requested our assistance in an operation he was planning without divulging the nature. . .or to whom it was directed. I can not, of course, discuss other clients, or even potential clients with him, but may intimate that we were involved in disarming the device. That should placate him. . .In fact, he may feel grateful.”

  “And if he makes further inquiries?”

  “Of whom? Both the NSA and US military will deny any involvement in the disarming of the bomb. . .which should lead DePasquale to conclude it was our intervention that saved his business. He has no credible sources within either organization to uncover the truth and we do. . .That is why he pays us handsomely for information. Instruct our operatives to be alert for any questions from organized crime people, but I do not think it will be a problem.”

  “As usual, Herr Commissioner, you have given the situation considerable thought and produced a remarkably insightful commentary.”

  “Yes, I have. How do the Americans phrase it?” He chuckled. “That is why I am paid big bucks.”

  “Indeed, sir. Will there be anything else?”

 
“Unfortunately, yes. I am dissatisfied with Bernard Bergstrom’s performance as Acting Director. Therefore, I am removing him from the post and replacing him with Arthur Magnuson.”

  “Is Bergstrom returning to the position of Director of Operations?”

  “No.”

  International News Service (INS)

  BREAKING NEWS BREAKING NEWS BREAKI

  Toronto, Canada (INS)

  November 14, 1989

  A local businessman with international ties was killed in what is being termed a freak accident outside the building that housed the operation he headed, Consortium Business Associates.

  Police report that Bernard Bergstrom, Acting Director for North American Operations, was leaving work for the day when the vehicle he was driving jumped a curb and ran over a natural gas line that served the building. The resulting explosion extensively damaged the building. Witnesses reported the blast could be felt and heard three blocks away and shattered windows in nearby buildings.

  The fireball caused by the incident reached heights of sixty to seventy meters. Toronto Fire Service Captain Willis Hargis informed INS that his crews were on scene in less than ten minutes and were able to extinguish the blaze minutes after cutting off the gas supply.

  Hargis speculated that Bergstrom may have suffered a sudden medical emergency. “It is my professional opinion the crash was an unfortunate accident. Arson investigators will conduct a routine investigation into the incident.”

  People departing the building moments before the accident said the driver was slumped over the wheel as the vehicle plowed through a landscaped garden and sheared off a meter attached to the gas line.

  George Martin, an employee of the firm Bergstrom headed was quoted as saying, “My boss seemed to be unconscious and unaware of the fire, thank God. He’ll be sorely missed.”

  He went on to note that Bernard was a confirmed life-long bachelor who is survived only by his mother, believed to be a resident of a nursing home in Ottawa.”

  Fire officials expect a final report to be released early next year.

  ****

  BONUS PREVIEW

  of

  BLACK STAR BAY

  Volume 2 in the

  Black Star Ops Group Series

  CHAPTER 1

  CANNERY

  NEAR SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA

  “Who’s there?” she croaked through a dust-dry throat as the squeaking sound of rusty bedsprings pierced the darkness.

  “Joanna. . .that you, Nora?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You okay?

  “Think so. . .you?”

  “Tasered. . .Shot me up with something. Where are we?”

  “Some old building, from the musty smell.

  “That other smell what I think it is?”

  “You mean rat droppings and pee?”

  “I hate rats!”

  “Me, too. See the guys that got you?”

  “No, we waited at the diner for a couple hours. Went to look for you. . .Got us in the parking lot. . .Real pros.”

  “Didn’t see them?”

  “Like I said, real pros. . .hit us from the side. Got a pretty good lick in on one. . .then they zapped me. . .Heard a sizzling sound before that. . .Guess they got Jake first. Woke up and heard snoring. . .thought you were one of them. ”

  “That’s okay. . .thought you were a rat.” She laughed.

  “Thanks a lot. . .Like I said, I hate rats!”

  “It was the smell, and skittering around.”

  “Oh, don’t say skittering. . .I’ll come undone!”

  She smiled at the indignant reply. “Gotta be honest, I’m scared. Was it them? What happens now?”

  “Hard to say. . .Guess we need a plan. . .Any ideas?”

  “Uh, uh, still coming to. Sure help if I could see.”

  “Yeah, adds new meaning to being in the dark, can’t even see my own hand! Wait, think I see a crack of light under a door.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. . .other side of the room. . .Least I think it’s a door. . .Can you get free?”

  “Not sure. They did a pretty good search. . . gun’s gone, knife’s gone. Had a fingernail file in my back pocket, sure hope they missed it. Thank you, Jesus! Still there. . .if I can just get it. . .”

  “Hurry, before they come back!”

  “If I was going any faster, you’d see nothing but a blur.”

  “Can’t see anything, anyway.”

  “Oh, sure, excuses.”

  “Best I got right now.”

  “All right. . .got a strand cut!”

  “Way to go. . .Now hurry up!”

  “Hold your horses, little missy.” She seems more like a daughter than anything.

  “Can’t stand being tied up. . .Feel so damned helpless!”

  “Yeah, it’s the worst part. . .Okay, hands are free. Give me a minute, have my feet loose. . .there!” She carefully swung her feet over the edge of the bed and felt her shoes touch a hard, irregular surface. “Rough concrete.”

  “Okay, over here.”

  “Feeling with my foot. . .seems clear.”

  “Your voice. . .getting closer.”

  “Roger tha. . .ow! Hit a corner. . .like a box, maybe a footlocker. . .now a I feel a metal railing.”

  “The bed moved.”

  She felt like screaming with joy when their outstretched hands met, but remembered the situation, and remained silent. She felt the other woman tugging at the fingernail file. “No, don’t,” she whispered. “Let me get you loose. . .You’re younger, and a better fighter.”

  “Why, thank you!”

  “Welcome.” I’d rather be in this mess with her, than most people I know. It didn’t take as long as she thought to saw through the ropes that bound the other woman’s legs to the bed. It took a little longer to free her hands, but her fellow team member soon stood on shaky legs. After a quick hug they turned and started moving slowly toward the sliver of light across the room.

  They went carefully, searching for anything that might serve as a weapon. She felt like doing a happy dance when she nudged a piece of metal pipe on the floor that was as long as her arm. Finally, she reached out and touched the area above the sliver of light—it was a door. She turned around and whispered, “How do we get them in here?” Joanna shrugged her shoulders in an unseen reply.

  “Can’t bang on the door. . .They’d know we’re free. Can’t scream and yell. . .They’ll know we’ve come to.”

  “What if I say you can’t breathe?”

  “They’ll know we’re awake.”

  Despair covered them like a wet blanket. Nora felt like sitting down on the floor and crying like a little girl. Not giving up that easily . . .should ask her to slap me back to my senses. Instead, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  Joanna sensed her frustration and whispered, “Time to put on big-girl panties and deal with it! We’re warriors, right?”

  “Hoo-rah!” she whispered back. “What would warriors do?”

  “For a start, don’t panic.”

  “How about a medical emergency?”

  “Like they’d care. . .Prob’bly just feed us to the fishes. . .May be their plan, anyway.”

  “I think. . .”

  Her sentence was interrupted by the metallic sounds of a padlock being opened on the other side of the door. Dammit, eyes haven’t adjusted. The door began to swing open as the sliver of light became an ever-growing triangle that spread across the floor.

  Joanna slipped behind the opening door as Nora stood frozen with indecision. A well-worn work boot stepped into the widening fan of light as the barrel of an automatic rifle was thrust cautiously ahead of the figure. The smell of body odor and tobacco breath wafted into the room. Nora faded back into the darkness and waited, her shoulder-length brunette hair offering some camouflage in the darkness. A sense of calm settled over her, as training and instinct took over. Adrenaline began to pump through her arteries and events seemed to play-out i
n slow motion.

  Their captor was halfway through the door when she raised both hands and charged with all of her strength. Take that, sucker. The guard saw the movement and turned toward her just in time to have the edge of the door strike him from his groin to his forehead. He seemed to be divided in two with a look of shock frozen on the right half of his face.

  Joanna gave the door a powerful kick, and the added force robbed the guard of consciousness. His eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped to the floor like a chocolate bunny left in the summer sun. The rifle fell away from him and Nora scooped it up, recognizing the AK-47 design in an instant. She pulled back the bolt to chamber a round and flicked the safety off. Her finger rested along the trigger guard—ready to release a spray of deadly fire on anybody unlucky enough to be in the hall.

  A quick pull on the door revealed an empty corridor running thirty feet to a cavernous area that appeared to be part of a warehouse or factory. The hallway was lit by ceiling-mounted bulbs that cast an anemic yellow glow every ten feet or so. She returned to the room and grabbed a radio from the belt of the unconscious guard.

  “Looks clear,” she whispered to Joanna. “Smell the salt air? Must be close to the water.” They moved carefully into the hallway. The younger woman pulled the door shut and replaced the lock. “Left the keys in his pocket. . .They’ll have to find the spare. Let’s see what’s out here.” They moved slowly down the hallway.

  CANNERY

  SEA WIND BAY, CALIFORNIA

  Bart and Jake stood stock-still when they heard footsteps outside the partially-opened door. One of the kidnappers had come back to close the door, and was reaching for it when he looked Jake in the eye. He froze, trying to decide whether to reach down for the rifle he had leaned against the wall or continue to close the door—indecision cost him his life.

  A throwing knife seemed to leap out of Jake’s cargo pants pocket with a mind of its own and fly straight to the guard. It embedded itself almost fully in his chest and pierced the heart. A shocked look and one last gasp were the final conscious actions of his wasted life. He fell face-first to the stone floor. A few spasmodic jerks followed and a trickle of blood colored his lips. A final breath was squeezed from his body with a quiet sigh and he went limp.