by T C Miller
“Superman?” Joanna glanced sideways from the passenger seat.
“Young people need a hero.”
Joanna playfully punched his shoulder and said, “Superhero? What’s next, your own comic book?”
Jake grinned and answered Licia, “Some people can’t drive in snow.”
“Wish they’d learn,” Licia said. “I was having a really great dream about coming down a mountain on top of a foot of powder.”
“Was there a hot ski instructor?” Star Jackman asked.
“Are boys all you ever think of?”
Star leaned forward. “No, right now I’m thinking about lunch. When do we get some?”
“About twenty minutes,” Jake replied. “At Great
America.”
“Great America?”
“Truck stop that’s been there forever. Good food, and we can stretch our legs.”
“About time. I need a restroom.”
Licia leaned forward again and pointed to the half-full bag of M&Ms. “I can’t wait till then. Can I steal a handful?”
“Sure, just this once.”
Joanna smiled. “You must be special. He doesn’t share his candy stash with everybody.”
“Hey, grab me a handful,” Star demanded. “I’m starving, too.”
Jake rolled his eyes. Good thing I have another bag in my gear.
Joanna and the girls dashed into the restaurant fifteen minutes later through thick snowfall while Jake fueled the shiny black truck and washed the tinted windows. The truck was his pride and joy, and he treated it with respect and care as he checked fluid levels and tire pressure. He cleaned up the spilled candy from the floor, sighed, and dumped it in a trash barrel. Wasted little candies…. His breath formed a frosty cloud that hung in the air for a while.
Jake scanned the area out of habit as a black Dodge SUV with reflective windows pulled up to the pumps two islands over.
The driver swiped a credit card, while his passenger scraped snow off the windows. The teamwork caught Jake’s eye, and he looked closer at the two young men. Both sported mirrored sunglasses and wore winter parkas resembling military gear. They appeared to be undercover law enforcement, and the vehicle resembled those used by federal agents. Did Bart have us tailed?
The gas nozzle snapped off with a metallic click. Jake topped off the tank, returned the nozzle to the pump, and tore off the paper receipt.
He thought about copying their license number, but changed his mind. They can report back to Bart I’m doing it by the book. He parked in front of the restaurant and activated the Blazer’s alarm system.
“Smells good in here,” Jake said as he slid into a booth covered in faded burgundy, faux leather upholstery. It snapped and crackled and reminded him of his grandmother’s plastic-covered furniture.
“Waitress came already,” Joanna said. “I ordered blackberry iced tea for you.”
“Thanks, although with the weather getting colder, hot might be better. Temperature’s dropping fast, even though the forecast said that Arctic front coming in was going to miss us.”
“Anything can happen along the Front Range,”
Star said.
“True,” Joanna replied. “At least we have a cozy condo in Hogadon waiting.”
Star sighed. “Been looking forward to this all week, especially after the camping mess…I mean, well….” She traded glances with Licia.
“Don’t worry,” Licia said. “They know what happened.”
“Oh, good. I was afraid I’d give away classified information or something.”
“We weren’t on the response team that saved you in Rocky Mountain National Park,” Jake said. “But we work for the same agency. We’ve been watching Licia since her daddy died.”
“So, you’re here on assignment, not as friends?” Joanna smiled. “Little bit of both.”
The bleach-blonde server placed drinks on the table, pulled a pad out of her apron and a pencil from behind her ear. “You folks ain’t headed north, are yas?”
“Sure are,” Jake replied. “Why?”
“Truckers say I-25 is shut down almost to Douglas.
Where ya headed?”
“Hogadon.”
“Might wanna take 287 out of Laramie to 487 North instead. Could be better. Now, what can I get for ya?”
***
Chapter Two
Office of the NSA Director
“Yes, you heard me right, Bart. We need a face-to-face chat.” John Banner’s voice sounded hollow on the encrypted phone and had an echo. He checked the security panel on his desk to make sure no one was listening. “And before you ask, I wouldn’t pull you away from the search if it weren’t urgent. And please bring Nora with you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll book the first flight I can.”
“No need. I diverted one of our courier flights to pick you up tomorrow at Cheyenne Regional, a few miles from FE Warren.”
“I’m familiar with it. I’ll call Justin to get flight inform…”
“In case I didn’t make it clear, the visit is urgent and compartmentalized. My assistant doesn’t know you’re coming. In fact, very few people do. I want to read you into the background of a shadowy
organization becoming an increasing threat.”
Bart shrugged, and Nora, who sat across the table from him, offered a puzzled look in reply. “Whatever you say, boss. What’s the name of this clandestine group?”
“Can’t say, not even on a secure link.”
“Should I worry?”
“Not at the moment, but they factor into major issues affecting the agency.”
“Okay then, we’ll be there tomorrow with bells on.”
“Good,” Banner mumbled as he glanced at handwritten notes on a pad. “Pilots notify Cheyenne Regional of a mechanical issue…plane rolls to National Guard Hangar One…you load out of sight at 1300 hours local. Got it?”
“Clear as a bell. Who should I put in charge of the team?”
“I’ll leave that to you, but make sure it’s someone who can lead for a while.”
“How long?”
“We’ll discuss the time frame tomorrow.”
The Director hung up, and Bart exchanged quizzical looks with Nora. “I thought Banner might not like the way I’m running the team, but then he said to bring you along. Are we supposed to go sightseeing?”
“No idea, but putting everything else aside for the moment, who are you going to name as interim team chief?”
Bart ran his fingers through his thick chestnut-brown hair and sighed. “Jake’s about the only one I trust to run the team like I do. He’s got the training and background and can handle the pressure. Although I’d like a little more time to get him ready.”
“From what I’ve seen, darling, he’s more than ready. Don’t worry, you’re leaving the team in good hands.”
“I’m sure you’re right…as usual.”
Secure Warehouse, FE Warren AFB, Wyoming
“You’ve been cleared by Internal Security to move from a support position to full-fledged agent,” Bart said to Carl Dean.
Carl, formerly Bill Johnson, was writing notes on a clipboard in the cavernous hangar that contained items recovered from the BlackStar Ops Group’s wrecked command center in the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.
“Thanks, Boss, that’s a relief. Putting the bad old life behind me is like being reborn.”
“Wasn’t all your fault. Eichner slipped drugs in your drinks to control you and the rest.”
“I still feel real bad they didn’t make it.”
“Life can be a crapshoot, son, no doubt about it. You survived, and your law enforcement background has come in handy. I couldn’t brief you until now, but the BlackStar system we protect is an NSA program that’s been safeguarding our nuclear assets around the
world since the early fifties.”
“Why so long?”
“National leaders back then questioned how to deal with foreign interests who might get their hands on our
nukes, either by accident or theft. BlackStar came from a government think tank, and not one nuke has
fallen into the wrong hands since.”
“I’m ready to do my part, whatever it takes.”
“Good to hear, Bill, I mean Carl. Still can’t get used to calling you that.”
“Been pretty strange for me, too. People call you Bill Johnson for fifty-two years, and you get used to it. Then, in a flash, he’s gone, and Carl Dean pops up out of nowhere.”
“Not quite nowhere. The former Carl Dean died during a classified mission years ago. You’ve taken
over the phony identity created for him.”
“Why?”
“Transferring his identity to you was the easiest way to handle what happened at Mather. Sort of our version of a Witness Protection Program. By the way, my hat’s off to you for keeping your cover secret.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m alive and kicking, thanks to you. Be a different story if I was further down the tunnel when Eichner blew it up. I’d love to get my hands around the lousy, no good…”
“You’re helping to put a noose around his neck by being part of this team.”
“It’s the most worthwhile work I’ve ever done. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, even if I miss my family now and then. Although truth be told, my marriage was on the rocks, and I haven’t talked to my relatives in years. The cover story saying I died trying to catch the intruders killed two birds with one stone. Eichner thinks I’m dead, and I’m a hero instead of scum. And Eichner turning out to be a deep-cover spy for the Soviets? Talk about coming out of left field. I should have figured out he was hinky after being a cop all my life.”
“He spiked your drinks.”
“Yes, but I still feel like a world-class fool. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be rotting away in a federal lockup.
Life sure can be funny.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“What I don’t get, Boss is why you pulled so many strings for me. Why go to all the trouble for a nobody?”
“People who work for me are anything but nobodies. We worked together for a long time, so I knew invading the Alert Pad and stealing those nukes meant you were in serious trouble. As my daddy always said, ‘Dance with the devil, and you pay the piper.’”
“Sounds like my dad. I do feel awful sorry for my wife, although, with the life insurance and whatnot, I’m sure she’s doing okay.”
“She is.” We have her under surveillance to see if you contact her.
“A big question I have is how did Rick know there was a BlackStar system on the plane?”
“That’s one of the things we’re looking into. We camouflage BlackStar systems as classified comm panels. Even the aircrew is clueless as to the devices being on the aircraft. I’m leaning toward it being an inside job.” Bart checked the custom chronograph on his wrist. “Speaking of which, I need to get back to Eagle One and check for messages.”
“Thanks again, Boss, for everything you done for me.”
“You’re welcome, Bill…uh, Carl.”
Consortium Underground Facility, Deer Trail, Colorado One Month Before
“I fear we must be in prison,” Ivan Rostovich said to the hulk of a man standing inches away. “Hosts say we cannot leave without escort. Why is this?”
Gregori Yankovich, or Greg Yancy, to the Amerikanskis, leaned in until his assistant could smell the liver-and-onion meal they finished half-an-hour before. “They have reasons, of this you can be sure. Maybe security concern after death of Eichner. I will seek another place for us to stay.”
Footsteps echoed in the corrugated-steel access tunnel of the underground missile site built a quarter-century before to defend from attack by the Soviet Union.
“Air is damp. Smells bad,” Ivan noted.
“Recycled air often has bad smell.”
A member of the facility staff bumped into Ivan, mumbled an apology and scurried away.
“Why do they seem so frantic?” Ivan asked.
“Gunter Wilhelm will be here soon.”
“Who?”
“Operations Director of Consortium for North America.” Yancy waited until no one was within earshot. “You must know I have best intention for you and men, or you would quit long before this. I do not trust these people, but choices are limited after
Eichner dies in missile silo.”
“Who could have done such a thing?” “Why do
you ask me?” Yancy snapped back. “He seeks privacy
and falls in. Railing was rusty and weak.”
“Yes, Bocc, is true. What is plan?”
“I talk more with people to sell bombs. Is all you must know.”
Ivan lowered his voice to a whisper. “Consortium has devices locked in warehouse. Will they return them?”
“Reputation of Consortium suffers if they do not. They charge much for services…much is expected in return. Besides, I have hidden triggers for devices as precaution. Weapons have tamperproof code only I possess. Attempt to access weapons without code destroys everything for a thousand meters. Of this, they are aware.”
“Like chess grand master, you anticipate move of opponent to counter them.”
“Is why I live to this day.”
An announcement over the PA system brought their conversation to a halt, “Mister Yancy, please come to the Secure Communications Room for a classified message.”
Two Months Earlier
“You would dare not throw me out,” Gregori Yancy bellowed. “I have contract.”
Ivan Tcharnovsky offered a smarmy smile before answering, “Rick Eichner had contract. He is dead. You have no contract.”
Gregori’s face turned beet red, and he sputtered his reply, “Then we make contract.”
“I have no authority. You must contact Consortium representative.”
“Eichner dealt with representative, I am but partner.”
“You have no proof.”
“I came with him. He told you I am partner, yes?”
“I do not recall, but is of no consequence. Commission decides how to proceed at next monthly meeting. Until such time, you stay as guest.”
Yancy placed his fists on the desk and leaned toward Tcharnovsky, who retreated while pressing a button under the edge. Three uniformed members of the Consortium security staff entered the office without knocking. They lined up along a wall with AK-47 rifles ready.
“What is this, TOVARICH? Am I to be prisoner?”
“Only if necessary for safety of facility, tovarich.”
Gregori lowered his voice, “What of my
possessions in warehouse?”
“Commission decides.”
“They are mine. Return them to me.”
“I obey orders from Commission only.”
Tcharnovsky glanced at the knockoff Faberge clock on his desk. “I have meeting in four minutes. You must leave.”
Yancy spun on his heels and stomped toward the door. “Is not end of this.”
“There you are, Bocc,” Ivan exclaimed. “I search for you. You have good news, yes?”
“No. Fascist pig says contract dies with Eichner. I must wait for Commission to decide our fate.”
“So we take over installation and remove bombs?”
“Is but one option. I often encounter treachery in smuggling, but this is different. I will make deal for safe place to stay. If not, we take bombs by force.”
“What do I say to men?”
“Tell them to be alert and prepare for combat. Consortium will not take what is mine.”
Near NSA Headquarters-One Month Before
Justin Todd spoke into the satellite phone through clenched teeth, “I cannot drop everything to scurry about at your beck and call. Banner will see a pattern.”
“Stop your whining,” the tinny voice answered. “I’m your handler, so you come running when I snap my fingers, got it? Banner’s too busy trying to grasp the finer points of his new job. Besides, you’re being
paid big bucks for the work.”
“I explained the perilous nature of my position to your predecessor. One wrong move and the
information flow ceases.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. By the way, good job escaping the Hawkins shooting.”
“Thank you. All I had to do was suffer a gunshot wound.”
“Better than jail.”
Justin watched sheets of sleet slide down the windshield of the parked car. He took another puff of the mildest cigarette available. It was a filthy habit, but a necessary part of his cover. The breaks he took outside the smoke-free building provided opportunity to meet with his sources. He snuffed the cigarette out. “Why have you called me out on this miserable day?”
“We have a high priority request from a client to locate Alicia Martinez…”
“I located her, and the project was complete.”
“Not entirely. The goal was to retrieve vital information from Martinez. It didn’t happen, and her disappearance is costing our client big bucks.”
“Their misfortune is not my concern. I did my part.
Her current location is a mystery.”
“Then figure it out ASAP, you pompous ass.”
Justin paused to compose himself. “Must you insult me? I am under a tremendous amount of pressure. I will revisit my previous efforts to ascertain her current location. How much additional compensation will I receive?”
“Always about the money with you, isn’t it? Your usual fee, plus a twenty-five percent bonus if you provide the information in less than seventy-two hours. Is that enough?”
“It will suffice. I have never concealed my desire for financial compensation. Otherwise, why would I risk spending the rest of my life in some black hole of a prison?”
One Block Away
Two men in a nondescript gray sedan with government license plates watched from a block away as Justin pulled from the curb. “I thought we checked this guy out already?” Agent Joe Glass said to Bill Barnes, his partner in the NSA’s Internal Investigation Division.
