18 Wheel Avenger

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  “You’re bait, Barry.” Jackson was blunt. “Pure and simple. You, Cutter, and the others. The price on your head just went up to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The news of Jabal and Gibran and the women broke just after I spoke with you.”

  “Who leaked it?”

  “No leak on our part this time. The press was notified, we think, by Khaled’s people.”

  “You think?”

  “The press refuses to divulge their sources.”

  “Give me the reporter’s name. I’ll get it out of the son of a bitch!”

  “I am sorely tempted to do just that. But, no. I was hoping you’d call in. You’re too hot to handle real loads, Barry. And they know, somehow, you’re San Antonio bound. So let’s see if we can throw them off. Head for … wait a minute … yeah. Sheppard AFB at Wichita Falls. I’ll advise Captain Barnett to meet you people there. That okay with you, Dog?”

  “We’re on our way.”

  A new mirror in place, the small convoy rolled out. They would head to Fort Smith, then Oklahoma City. From there, they would head south on 44 into Sheppard.

  “Bait,” Cutter said, emerging from the sleeper and sitting down. “I’ve been thinking about that.” She looked out at the passing Oklahoma landscape.

  “And… ?” Barry prompted.

  “I like it.”

  “I’m riding with a crazy woman!”

  “No. Think about it. The possibilities are endless.”

  “Yeah. For us to get our butts shot off?”

  “That, yes. But also for us to shoot off some butts.”

  “I’m kidding with you, Cutter. Being bait is fine with me. But I’d like to get Frenchy and the others off the hook.”

  She looked at him. “But none of the rest of my team can drive a rig like this.”

  “We don’t need them.”

  “We?”

  “You and me, Cutter. We make a good team.”

  “You mean that, Barry?”

  “Cutter and the Dog.”

  “I like it.”

  8

  “I hate it!” Jackson said.

  “So do I,” Captain Barnett echoed.

  “I’ve already spoken with SOCOM,” Cutter said. “They like it. Orders are being cut right now. So it’s settled. I ride with the Dog.”

  “You can’t do it,” Jackson said smugly. “It’s against the law.”

  Barry looked at the man and laughed. “Jackson, that is the most asinine thing I have ever heard you say. I’m riding around the country killing people with the government’s blessing, and you tell Cutter she can’t ride with me because it’s against the law!”

  Jackson looked pained. “Barry, your cover is ripped enough without broadcasting what you do.”

  “Jackson,” Barry said, looking at the Air Force Special Operations team. “These people have the highest national security clearance known to exist. My God, there must be five thousand or more truck drivers out there”—he waved his hand—“who know what I do, and fifty thousand more who suspect.”

  “Yes,” Jackson agreed. “And that has caused some concern in very high quarters.”

  “And… ?”

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “Only one person can stop you, Barry. And that person has no intention of ever doing so. Funds for what you are doing were set aside a long time before we ever even knew your name. Long before you actually came into the picture. Provisions for you were worked into the charter of … a certain organization.” He sighed. “All right. All right. You and Lieutenant Cutter can’t just hit the highways, running about willy-nilly. There have to be plans made. So”—he sat down wearily—“let’s get to it.”

  “And let those truckers roll!” Cutter said with a laugh.

  A three-star general flew in and talked privately with Cutter for more than an hour. Then an aide caught up with Barry and asked him if he would speak with the general.

  Barry guessed the man to be close to sixty years old, with a chest filled with ribbons, and probably that many more in a drawer at home. He was very competent-looking.

  He waved Barry to a seat and poured them both coffee. Cutter sat at the end of the long table. The general stared at Barry.

  “We’ve wondered for a year if the rumors were true, Barry,” the general said, stirring his sugared and creamed coffee. “And frankly, we hoped the rumors were valid. It will be my pleasure to report to … a very few people, in all branches of service, that I have met the Dog.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  “Orders are being cut this minute that will enable you and Cutter to duck into any Air Force base in the country for rest, repairs, equipment, whatever. At any time. Your rig is being loaded now with junk parts, the crates sealed and government stamped. Several of the crates—Cutter knows which ones—are filled with whatever you’ll need to put a dent into the terrorist activities now building in America.” He smiled. “And I mean … whatever.”

  “Is this operation putting Cutter’s career on the line?”

  “No. Not at all. Technically, she’s being reassigned to a top-secret unit working with certain groups in Europe. And she will be seen boarding a plane on this base. Her orders will be handled by personnel on this very base. A look-alike will be seen getting off the plane in Europe. In reality, you’ll pick her up at Reese AFB outside of Lubbock. Any questions so far?”

  Barry shook his head.

  “You know how to ride a motorcycle, Barry?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’ll be a couple of Harleys amid all the crates.” The general smiled. “Who knows, they might come in handy getting in and out of places your rig can’t go.”

  Barry returned the smile.

  “That Husky of yours bites.”

  “Yeah, I know. Did he get you, General?”

  “Came damn close. I made the mistake of opening the door to your truck. Thing came at me like a black and white devil. I like to shit!”

  Both Barry and Cutter laughed at the expression on the general’s face.

  The general laughed with them and stood up, holding out his hand to Barry. “Luck to you, Dog.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  He turned to Cutter. Held out his hand. Silver bars. He flipped them to her. “Congratulations, Captain Cutter. And good hunting.” He smiled. “That’s unofficial, of course.”

  He walked out the door without looking back.

  Barry noted the stunned expression on Cutter’s face. “I gather the promotion was not expected?”

  “Damn sure wasn’t.” She slipped the bars into a pocket of her jacket. “Promotions are extremely difficult to come by in this unit.”

  “Sort of like an A-team, I would imagine.”

  She studied him. “I felt that you had been a part of some special force.”

  “Long time ago. Of course, Cutter, this just might mean something else for you.”

  “What?”

  “When our run is over, you’ll probably be given your own special operations teams.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” She smiled. “That would be a first.”

  “And you owe it all to women’s lib,” Barry said with a smile.

  “Screw women’s lib!” Cutter told him. “I got where I am by hard work, not by bitching and bra-burning.”

  “Anytime you want to burn your bra, let me know. I’ll be happy to take it off for you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Delighted.”

  “Let’s go check out the gear the general arranged for us.”

  Together, they laid it out on the ground. And it was impressive. Rocket launchers, grenades, two M-60 machine guns, crates of ammunition, C-3 and C-4 with all sorts of detonators, including radio-controlled dets. Two thick rolls of det cord, and several crates of backup equipment. The general had thought of it all, and provided it for them.

  They carefully repacked and stored it, then went back to the guarded compound.

  Frenchy and Ready, Smooth and
Mustard were waiting by their rumbling rigs.

  “We got orders, Barry,” Frenchy said. “We’re gettin’ ready to pull out soon as our escorts get here.”

  Barry shook his hand. “Been good runnin’ with you boys.”

  “Same here. You and Cutter take it easy. We see you on the slab, we’ll give you a bump.”

  “We’ll keep our eyes open for you.”

  Handshakes were offered all around and taken. Cutter and Barry walked away.

  Dog was jumping up and down, playing with a female security officer he had taken up with.

  Barry knelt down beside the Husky and petted him. “You’re going to be in good hands, Dog. And a hell of a lot safer here. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  Dog licked Barry’s face and then went running off with the security officer.

  “Acts like he’s used to this,” Cutter observed.

  “He is. We’re going to be moving fast and dangerous for a while. I feel better knowing Dog is safe. Besides,” Barry grinned, “Dog is no fool. He always takes up with some good-looking woman.”

  Barry watched as Cutter’s plane took off. He turned and went back to his rig. It had been checked from front bumper to tail. He inspected the hidden compartments in the custom-built cab and sleeper. Filled to capacity with an assortment of weapons and explosives.

  Breaking dawn.

  Barry looked around him. He was alone in the compound and knew that was deliberate. If you didn’t see anything, you couldn’t talk about it later.

  He stood by the rumbling rig for a moment, then climbed up into the cab and checked his gauges. The big custom-built Cummins was as smooth as honey.

  He turned on his bank of radios and dropped the rig into gear.

  The engine growled.

  The Dog was on the hunt.

  He was waved through the back gate at Reese AFB without even a check and a security vehicle pulled in front of him and escorted him to a back runway. The brakes were still hissing when Cutter climbed on board. Her clothing was already in the sleeper.

  They rolled out, following the security Jeep. Within a few minutes, they were clear of the base and rolling toward highway 385.

  “Orders?” Barry said.

  “The government has leaked that we’re carrying Stinger missiles to the west coast. Stay on three-eighty-five until we hit Interstate forty.” She reached around and opened a bag, taking out an Uzi and laying it on the floor. “Then get ready for all hell to break loose.”

  They connected with 385 at Levelland and Barry pointed the nose of the Kenworth north. Interstate 40 lay some one hundred and fifteen miles north.

  Cutter shifted her shapely butt and looked at Barry. “I’ve been in constant briefings since landing, Barry. All indications point to Darin Grady having linked up with Khaled. Khaled’s people have linked up with the Islamic Army, this particular branch headed by a wacko from Chicago who now calls himself Bakhitar. He changed his name when he supposedly converted to the Moslem religion. This Bakhitar may be a fool, but he’s got several hundred hard-core followers. And they need weapons. All of the terrorist groups are in constant need of weapons.”

  “Let me guess why: they’re growing.”

  “Right. The real brains behind the American Islamic Army is someone known only to us as Ja. Ja supposedly lives somewhere in Central California and has twenty or thirty or more real hard professionals always on call.”

  “Do the powers that be in the House and Senate know of this growing threat of terrorism?”

  “Maybe some of them. But if they ever do decide to get off their rumps and do something, they’ll first have to have twelve months of public hearings and then reach the conclusion that it’s okay to fight terrorism, but only if we don’t use violence.”

  Barry laughed at the expression on her face and the heat in her voice. “That’s why I’m here, Cutter. That’s why the rules were bent and broken to put me here. But I agree with you. One hundred percent.”

  “There is one other thing, Barry. Well, more than one, of course, but I think you’d better know that a rather generally disliked reporter for a national news organization, organization being spelled T-V, has been in contact with a known agent for I-7 and several other terrorist groups. Darin Grady has agreed to meet with this reporter for a sum of money. You want to take it from there?”

  “This reporter hates the military, hates the cops, hates the government, et cetera, but professes to do what he is doing for the good of the country.”

  “I’m glad to see we’re on the same wavelength.”

  “And this reporter would just love to learn about someone like me.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Well, then, we have two choices, Cutter.”

  She waited.

  “We either get to Grady before he talks to this reporter, or we get to the reporter.”

  “You mean kill him!”

  “I would rather it didn’t come to that. I’d like to think the man could be convinced to lay off the story.”

  “Are you serious? That man would toss his own mother into a tub full of piranha for a story like this. People like that don’t really care about the country, Barry. To profess to be so worldly, they are some of the most native people I have ever encountered. They seem to want a perfect world but don’t have sense enough to realize that’s impossible.” She paused. “And why are you grinning like that?”

  “I just wanted to see how close our philosophies were. Pretty damned close, Cutter.”

  She shook her head. “Killing a big-name reporter, Barry. I don’t know about that.”

  Barry laughed.

  “You see something amusing about all this, Dog?”

  “I really do, Cutter. Get on the radio and tell Reese we’ve had a change of plans. That reporter lives in Washington, doesn’t he?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Tell control at Reese we’ll be heading east instead of west.”

  “Barry! …”

  “If we push hard, we can make it in thirty hours.”

  “Jesus Christ, Barry! You kill a nationally known reporter and all hell is going to break loose!”

  “You’re hurting my feelings, Cutter. Did I say anything about killing anybody?”

  “Well, what the hell are we going to Washington for?”

  “ ‘For’ is a preposition, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. What the hell has that got to do with killing someone?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Barry! … ”

  “I was always taught that one should not end a sentence with a preposition.”

  Cutter folded her arms under her breasts and cussed. Not cursed. Cussed. Old fashion swearing. Lots of four-letter words.

  “Are you quite through, Cutter?”

  She wasn’t.

  Barry waited.

  “Now I’m through,” she announced.

  “I can just see Jackson’s face and hear him,” Barry said with a chuckle.

  “You want to let me in on the joke?”

  “He’s going to go right through the roof.”

  “How fast are we going, Barry?”

  “Sixty. Why?”

  “If I balled this hand into a first.” She showed him. “And hit you on the jaw, what do you think would happen?”

  “I think we’d probably have a wreck. Why do you ask?”

  “Because if you don’t tell me what you’re planning on doing, I’m going to knock the crap flat out of you!”

  He told her.

  She started laughing. “You’re right,” she finally said, wiping her eyes. “Jackson is going to go right through the ceiling.”

  9

  George Stanton stepped out of his bachelor apartment that overlooked the Potomac and walked to the elevator. He stepped in and his eyes immediately took in the luscious-looking lady standing by the rather hard-looking man with the cold dark eyes.

  He smiled at the lady.

  She returned the smile.

  The man
spoke very pleasantly to George. George returned the salutation. First appearances can be so deceiving, he thought. Fellow probably had an impoverished childhood. But worked his way out of it to become a success. George knew a tailor-made suit when he saw one.

  “I love your special reports, Mr. Stanton,” the lovely lady said. “I particularly enjoy your stand on handguns and all that horrible violence in the streets of this country.”

  “Thank you.” Did the lady wink at him? She sure did. Well, she obviously knew quality when she saw it.

  “I simply abhor violence,” the man lisped.

  Ye Gods! George thought. The man was a fag!

  The lady smiled at him. Licked her lips.

  No doubt about it, George thought, this lovely thing was coming on to him.

  The elevator stopped. George certainly didn’t want this momentous encounter to end. Good. They were walking toward the front. Time for a few more words. If he could shake that fruit the evening would be memorable.

  “I have a car coming for me,” George said, consulting his watch. “Should be here at any moment. Can I give you both a lift?”

  The lady stepped closer. She smelled wonderful. But the handgun she stuck in his gut was something less than wonderful.

  He could not believe his ears when the elegant lady said, “You can yell. But one second after you do, I’m going to blow your guts around your backbone if you have one!”

  “What do you want?” George managed to croak. George was not a coward. But he was no fool, either. The lovely lady had managed to change like a chameleon. Her eyes were just as hard as the man’s. And George knew, with a sinking feeling, the man was no pansy.

  “Walk with us,” the man said. “You stay in the middle. Your car shows up, you tell the driver you’re having dinner with us. Keep walking. That’s good. Do as you’re told, you won’t get hurt.”

  “I’m being kidnapped.”

  “For ten or fifteen thousand miles, yeah,” the man told him.

  George thought about that. “What?”

  “You’ll see. We’re turning here.”