They had entered a dark hallway. For a moment, they both stood still, listening for any sounds. Dead silence. Marc retrieved his cell phone and turned on its flashlight. A quick look around revealed three interior doors leading from the hallway to other parts of the building. He carefully cracked the door open to their right. Lights glowed from computer monitors on desks. He could see a long counter and an exterior door leading to the front parking area where he and Laura had been when they visited a few nights before.
Marc closed the door, then turned the knob on the center door. A lone florescent ceiling light had been left on inside. It was a work room with several drafting cubicles along one side. In the center of the room he observed a large green polyethylene tank, probably the type that had been installed at the Savannah River Golf Links, he suspected. The tank was suspended from the ceiling by a heavy chain. He also noticed several workstations around the room. Likely the main production area, he figured.
Glancing toward the third door he saw that it was protected with a commercial keypad locking device. He suspected that messing with it could set off an alarm.
Rebecca re-opened the center door. They both slid through and entered the production room with the ominous polyethylene tank, swaying ever so slightly with the gentle currents of air that surrounded it. It hung from a chain that was attached to a track on the ceiling. The track led to an overhead door at the opposite side of the room.
Marc led Rebecca past the first cubicle. Off to their left, a small window appeared to lead to the room that was guarded by the keypad locking device.
“That must be Akhtar’s office. I bet he uses that window to keep tabs on his employees,” Marc whispered.
Marc went to the window and peered inside the room. There was a large metal desk and several TV monitors attached to the wall. Two more monitors sat toward the back of the desktop. A few of the monitors had been turned off; however, two were left on. One looked to show the outside of the building, at the front of the office.
“That’s why they saw us coming when Laura and I visited here a few nights ago,” Marc said.
The other monitor seemed to show an entrance or exit gate and a roadway to some kind of facility. Well-lit security booths monitored incoming traffic.
“Wonder where the hell that is?” Marc said pointing to its screen.
Rebecca leaned over Marc’s shoulder and studied the monitor for a moment. “Marc, I know where that is,” she said. The tenor of her voice tensed. “This guy’s monitoring one of the main gates to the Savannah River Site, probably from where he lives, out near Jackson.”
Marc was momentarily stunned. “You think Akhtar is keeping tabs on who’s coming and going at the country’s primary nuclear weapons production site?”
“It looks that way, but why?” she asked.
Marc hesitated, “Probably for the same reason someone would attack the golf course with chlorine gas and try to kill the Israeli Prime Minister,” Marc said.
Rebecca seemed to consider Marc’s statement. “Marc, you think the attack and monitoring the Site from here are somehow connected?”
“One thing that I’ve learned in my line of work is that you can’t believe in coincidences.” Marc continued to stare at the monitor. “Rebecca, do you have any contacts inside the Site?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe,” she said.
“What’s that mean?” Marc asked.
“Remember when you saw me the other night at the billiards place?”
“Yeah, you were sitting with some people who work out at the Site.”
“Right. A few of my friends work out there. They usually meet at Billiard’s Restaurant once a month or so and they asked me if I would meet them there.”
“Okay?” Marc said.
“Anyway, I used to date a guy who worked security at the Site. But that was almost a year ago. He worked odd shifts and we hardly saw each other, so I cut it off.”
“You think he’d be interested in knowing that someone like this Akhtar guy is monitoring one of the Site’s main gates?” Marc asked.
She hesitated, “Maybe. Not sure what he could do about it, I mean…” Rebecca’s thought was interrupted by the muffled sound of a car door closing.
“I think we may have visitors,” Marc whispered.
When he pulled Rebecca toward the back of the workroom, they heard someone rattling the outside entrance door that they had entered just minutes before. The two ducked behind the walls of a tool crib that was set along the back of the room. Marc knew it wasn’t much of a hiding place, but he figured they would be out of view of anyone entering the room or through the window from Akhtar’s office.
A moment later, Marc heard the faint sound of someone punching the buttons on the office door keypad. A slice of light came through the office window. Someone had switched on the overhead lights in Akhtar’s office. There was the sound of a door closing, then Marc could hear muffled voices.
Either there were two of them, or someone was talking on a phone, Marc thought.
About a minute later, the office door closed. Almost simultaneously, there was the sound of the workroom door opening, then a bank of overhead florescent lights buzzed to life. Staring from beneath the tool crib shelves, all that Marc could see were two sets of shoes entering the workspace. The sounds of shuffling feet on the concrete floor echoed around the room. Peering from under the tool shelf, Marc could see that one of the men wore dress pants and a pair of black leather dress shoes. The other man wore jeans and work boots. Work Boots was carrying a tower for a desktop computer.
“I’m not going to miss this fucking place,” one of them said. His voice was thick with an accent Marc couldn’t place. “Are you sure you grabbed all the flash drives that were in my desk drawer?”
“Got’em right here, in my pocket, Mr. Akhtar.”
Work Boots patted his jean’s pocket.
“Good. According to our contact, the convoy carrying the nuclear material and the warhead Pits is scheduled to depart the Site in a little over an hour. It should be in Atlanta right around eleven o’clock tonight.”
“Yes sir, your timing is perfect. They will have no idea what hit them. Most will be tucked into their comfy little beds or watching their pathetic late-night news shows as their own country’s nuclear arsenal is unleashed on one of its most advanced urban centers. Absolutely genius!”
“Too early to gloat,” Akhtar said. “We have already failed once today. That fucking Israeli Prime Minister is still alive. He needs to pay for the deaths of General Suleimani as well as our best nuclear scientist. To fail again could be catastrophic, not only for you and me, but for our entire movement to regain our position in the Middle East as its primary superpower.”
“Yes. I’m afraid that today’s episode at the golf course was most unfortunate, Mr. Akhtar. There were unforeseen circumstances and…”
“Enough excuses!” Akhtar said forcefully. “You have only one thing left to do. Our informants have done their job. We know the time and the route the convoy carrying the plutonium Pits will take when it leaves the Savannah River Site. Your job is to see that the convoy is intercepted at the precise location and time we have decided on. How that truckload of nuclear material is deployed is none of your affair. Our team is waiting for us to neutralize the shipment. They will handle the rest.”
“Certainly, Mr. Akhtar. Nothing will interfere with the plan. I give you my word.”
“I hope so. Your life, your family’s lives, and mine depend on it.”
Marc was stunned. His hand brushed the grip of his H&K that was secured to his belt, and for an instant, he even contemplated taking the two conspirators into custody and calling the local police. However, the thought quickly passed. He knew that the authorities needed more information to act on. Besides, he suspected any plan as complicated as the one he had just learned about was sure to have built-in redundancies…plans within plans.
“Let’s get out of here, there’s plenty more to d
o,” Akhtar said. With a soft click, the bank of lighting was extinguished and the door to the work room closed. A few moments later, Marc heard car doors slamming shut, then an engine starting. The sound of the car’s movement on the crushed stone parking area diminished and soon it was quiet again.
Marc and Rebecca remained frozen for a full two minutes after Akhtar left, making sure they were indeed alone. Finally, Marc said, “You still have your boyfriend’s cell number?”
“Old boyfriend,” Rebecca said. She pulled her phone from her pocket. Marc watched as she scrolled through her contacts.
“Yeah, here it is. He’s probably either getting ready for work, or sleeping. He often works the midnight shift. I guess we’ll find out shortly,” she said and pushed the call button.
A moment later Marc listened to the one-sided conversation, “Hello? Hope I didn’t wake you. Good, you’re still home? Okay, look, I, uh, we have a situation here and I think you should know about it.”
Rebecca glanced at Marc, then raised her eyebrows, “It’s something I don’t think we should discuss over the phone. Your place? Okay, that’d be great. See you in a few and thanks.” She ended the call.
“He’s scheduled to go in at midnight and was just watching a rerun. I think he was happier to hear from me than to hear about what we saw and heard.”
“Good. Does he live very far from here?” Marc asked.
“No, he has a place just off Whiskey Road on the south side of town. We can be there in ten minutes.”
“Time’s running short. Let’s go,” Marc said. He led the way back out of the building and through the field to where they had left the SUV.
Heading to the other side of town, they passed by Rose Hill. It was still early and the parking lot was full of cars. With the glow of the streetlights, he spotted the SUV Laura had rented, still parked where it was left upon their return from Augusta.
After passing through the commercial area on Whiskey Road, Rebecca hit the turn signal lever. A restaurant offering barbecued pork sandwiches sat on the corner. A neon caricature of a blinking pink pig rubbing its belly and sporting a wide smile helped advertise its specialty. The sign reminded him of one he’d seen on a trip to Montreal the year before. The left-hand turn took them down a two-lane county road.
“What is it about barbecue that people around here like so much?” Marc asked.
She gave Marc a funny look. “You don’t?” she asked.
“Never mind,” he said.
A quarter mile later, Rebecca turned onto a single lane dirt driveway.
“Phillips place is up ahead, just off the road. He likes his privacy.”
The fifty-yard-long driveway took them to a double wide mobile home surrounded by a growth of trees. There was a red Ford F-150 pickup parked near the steps that led to the entrance. An outside flood light snapped on, welcoming them.
When Rebecca stopped her SUV alongside the pick-up, the door to the home opened. The silhouette of a large man filled the doorway.
Rebecca and Marc got out of her SUV and climbed the short flight of steps to the top of the landing.
“Hey, Phillip, thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”
“No problem. Who’s your new friend?” Phillip asked, tipping his chin toward Marc. His inquiry had an accusatory tone.
“This is Marc LaRose. He’s a PI from New York, came down to watch the golf tournament in Augusta.”
Marc approached Phillip and extended his hand. “Hello, Phillip. Thanks for taking time to talk with us.” Although Phillip’s large hand completely surrounded Marc’s and his grip was firm, it was surprisingly soft.
After an awkward few moments, Phillip stood beside the door and said, “Well, come on in before the bugs carry us away.”
Inside the home, Phillip motioned to a couch. “Have a seat.” A five-foot flat screen television occupied the wall across from the couch and a rocker/recliner that Philip claimed for himself. A clip from the movie, “War Dogs,” was frozen on the screen.
Phillip apparently noticed Marc glancing at the TV and turned it off.
Marc estimated Phillip to be about the same age as Rebecca, a bit taller than Marc and possessing a former athlete’s build. Probably a weight-lifter, or a left tackle in his younger years.
“So Becky, what’s this all about? Your call sounded kinda mysterious.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the incident at the golf tournament today?”
“Who hasn’t. It’s been on the TV practically all day. I looked for you on the newsreels. Thought you’d be working security there.”
“Yeah, been there all week. That’s where I met Marc, I mean Mr. LaRose. He was caddying for his daughter’s boyfriend on the eighteenth green today when this whole thing went down. He may have even saved the Israeli Prime Minister’s Life.”
“Well, I wouldn’t quite…” Marc started, but Rebecca held up her hand for him to stop talking. She continued.
“Anyway, I’d been keeping an eye on a few characters at the course for the past few days, and when I learned that Marc was a PI, I thought I’d pass my suspicions on to him. As it turned out, he was already looking into some activity that tied the golf course to the Apex Irrigation Company in Aiken.”
“Okay, so how does this concern me?” Phillip asked.
“I’m getting to that. Like I said, I’d been watching a few guys at the course during the week, and when I relayed my suspicions to Marc, he told me he had been working with the golf course superintendent regarding the death of a friend of his that recently passed away due to chlorine gas inhalation at Apex.”
“And you think that the Apex death is somehow connected to the incident at the golf course today?” Phillip asked.
“Yes, and I’ll tell you why. Just this evening, we went to the Apex building and discovered that the manager, a man named Akhtar, was watching the Savannah River Site’s entrance gate in Jackson with a TV monitor he had set up at his office in Aiken.”
Phillip seemed to consider what Rebecca had said. “Although, it’s kinda strange, I doubt that’s illegal. So, how do you know this Akhtar guy?”
“I don’t. And how we got this information is sort of confidential,” Rebecca said.
“Is that code for trespassing, or worse?” Phillip asked.
Marc cleared his throat, “Look Phillip, how we obtained this is not important. I believe the information we have involves national security and is of utmost importance. Rebecca called you because she trusts you and you are in a position to act on it.”
“National security? Everything we’re involved with at the Site deals with national security. We make parts for nuclear bombs. I doubt you can get any more security conscious than that.”
“You know what Pits are?” Marc asked.
Phillip hesitated, “Of course. It’s no secret that the Site produces Pits. They’re the core of any nuclear bomb, made of Tritium, a hydrogen isotope that magnifies nuclear weapon power. They’re the triggering device for a nuclear bomb. It’s what makes the bomb explode, sorta like a bomb within a bomb, and every Pit needs to be replaced from time to time, about every thirty years or so. Why are you asking me about Pits?”
“You seemed pretty well versed on the function of a Pit, so you’re no doubt aware that there’s a truckload of nuclear material including several Pits leaving the Site later this evening,” Marc said.
Phillip’s face seemed to lose some of its color. “How do you—?” He stopped in mid-sentence and glanced toward Rebecca. “I don’t know, and even if I did, that information is classified.”
“Look, Phillip,” Marc glanced at his watch. “We’re wasting time here. There are some very bad people who have learned about the timing of the convoy and are planning to hijack the cargo and explode it when it passes through Atlanta.”
“Impossible. They’re armed to the—.” Again, Phillip stopped mid-sentence.
“It’s not only possible, unless something is done, it’s going to happen. You need to tak
e this information and advise your supervisors. I don’t know who is in charge of transporting these things, but they should know that an attack on the convoy tonight is imminent. “
Phillip was quiet as he seemed to think about what he’d just heard. He glanced at Rebecca, “I gotta make a call.” He picked up his cell from the end table and punched in a number. “Hey, it’s Phil. I got an emergency situation. Is there a supervisor around?”
Phillip appeared to listen, “No, shithead, I’m not calling in sick. I need to speak to a supervisor, now!” Phillip’s tone had taken a serious, almost military tone.
Phillip’s call appeared to have been put on hold. His foot jogged up and down in a nervous tick. A few seconds later his call was apparently transferred. “Mr. Trombly, it’s Phil.” He listened, then exhaled again. “No, I’m not calling in sick. I think we may have an emergency situation here.” Phillip glanced at Rebecca and Marc. “I’ve just received some information about tonight’s outbound load. Apparently the timing and the route the load is to take has been compromised.”
Phillip stopped, listening to what Trombly was telling him.
“Yes sir, I know that’s the responsibility of the Office of Secure Transportation, but the information I have is that there will be an attempt to hijack the load and possibly blow it up.”
Again, he stopped to listen. “Atlanta. Supposedly someone, terrorists I guess, are going to try to hijack the load in the Atlanta area as it passes through later this evening.”
“Who? My old girlfriend, and some guy from New York State that she’s met. He’s some kind of a private detective up there.”
Phillip was quiet as he listened to what Trombly was telling him.
“I know. You can’t make this shit up. What would you like me to do?”
There were a few moments of silence on Phillip’s end, “Yes sir. Hold on.”
Phillip covered his cell with his hand. “My supervisor wants me to bring you both to the Site so he can speak to you.”
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 19
