by T C Miller
Most I’ve heard her talk since we met. Licia was laying on one of the twin beds with her arms wrapped around a stuffed tiger she had since she was seven. She named it Terry for reasons that were long-forgotten and sprayed it with her mother’s perfume. Terry had been a comfort to her through more than one bad spot in her life.
Star laid on the other bed sipping a Diet Coke and munching dry popcorn. A stick of cinnamon incense sent a lazy curl of smoke drifting toward the ceiling.
“Do you have plans for the rest of the summer?”
“Mom’s touring Europe with her latest boy-toy...a replacement for her bass player, who’s in rehab for about the thirtieth time. Ken, or Kent, or whatever his name is, has a nasty habit of groping her when I’m around and trying to choke her with his tongue...I can definitely live without that...Thought I’d just hang around campus and see some of the local sights.”
“You like hiking and camping?”
“Never done much. I like the outdoors...but most of my friends don’t...So, nobody to go with...Mom’s idea of roughing it is a place that doesn’t have 24-hour-a-day room service.”
“Sure is different from what I’m used to...Mom and Dad took me fishing and camping before I could even walk. They liked to get away from the motel for the peace and quiet. It was harder to go after mom died, but we managed a few trips...And me and some of my high school buddies would slip away for the weekend to camp in the redwoods...or on the beach.”
“By yourselves?”
“Not totally...there’d usually be a dozen or so.”
“That’d be nice...I’m used to crowds of hundreds or thousands...Be nice to get away with just a few friends.”
“Some people I met in class are talking about camping out in Rocky Mountain National Park for a couple of weeks before school starts...You know...a little hiking and horseback riding. You’re welcome to come along...only be six or seven of us.”
“You mean eight or nine, don’t you? Or did you forget our babysitters?”
“Actually, I did...Think they’d have to come along?”
“Mom wouldn’t let me go without him...What about your uncle?”
“Not sure...Supposed to check in with him tomorrow...I can ask.”
“Might be a good idea...Sounds great, but what kind of stuff do I need?”
“Depends on how much you wanna lug around...There’s an REI down in Denver...”
“REI?”
“Co-op that specializes in outdoor gear...They carry the best stuff and it’s tested by their people...A little pricey, though.”
“I have an American Express Black.”
“Black?”
“No limit...My mom bought an airplane with it, once.”
“All right, all right...I see some serious shopping coming our way!”
***
CHAPTER 6
INTERSTATE 80, 10 MILES EAST OF
ROCK SPRINGS, WYOMING
“What should I do, Bacc?” Viktor, the driver of the eighteen wheeler, used the radio to speak with Gregori, who was riding with Rick in a van behind the semi. A Wyoming Highway Patrol car was driving next to the truck and motioning for him to pull over. Viktor shrugged his shoulders and the officer again motioned for him to pull over. “He says I must stop.”
Gregori glanced over at Rick who indicated that Viktor should comply. “Then you must pull over...We do not want this fool chasing us with radio...Would bring more police.”
Viktor flipped on the turn signal and began a leisurely drift onto the shoulder. The black van with deeply tinted windows ahead of him also pulled over, as did the identical van in back that carried his bosses.
The officer sat in his cruiser taking notes. He seated the dark-green Smoky Bear hat firmly on his head as he stepped out into a brisk wind that carried the smell of the wild grassland surrounding the highway on both sides.
His neatly pressed uniform was accented by highly-polished black Oxford shoes. Metal taps on the bottom rhythmically clicked a steady cadence as he strolled beside the fifty-three foot trailer. It was of unusually heavy construction and he wondered what it was carrying.
Traffic was light this time of morning and he stopped the semi out of boredom, although, the tail lights were blinking erratically, as if they needed some attention. His right hand rested casually on a holstered pistol as he approached the cab.
An image of the driver was reflected in the truck’s rearview mirror. Something’s not right. He had pulled over thousands of drivers in eleven years on the force, and his gut said the trucker was hiding something.
The driver rolled down the window as the patrolman eased up to the side of the cab. “I am running late, officer, what is it you want?”
The response was a curt, “License, registration and logbook...and I need to do a vehicle inspection.”
“You cannot do this, Officer Howard.” He read the name from the polished tag above the pocket.
“I cannot...What? Look, driver, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you...Give me your paperwork now.” For the first time, he recognized the driver’s Slavic accent. “Where’re you from and what are you hauling?”
“This is what I am saying...Load contains nuclear materials...Contracted by DOE.”
“The vans your escort?”
“Da...Yes.”
“You know why I stopped you?”
“No, I do not.”
“Like I said...license, registration and logbook.”
“But I must first call Bacc...”
“No, you don’t...You’re on my highway and I’m the boss here...Look, I’ve had enough of you failing to comply...Step down from the vehicle.”
“I must talk to him first...”
“Out of the vehicle, now!” He unsnapped his holster and placed the palm of his hand on the butt of the weapon. “I don’t care who you work for...You run on my highway...You obey the law...Get down from there, now! I’m not used to repeating myself.”
The patrolman was accustomed to working alone. A motion on the edge of his peripheral vision registered as two men left the lead van and walked toward him. Two men also left the trailing van and moved his way. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he addressed all four of them, “Return to your vehicles immediately.” It was a command, not a request.
They continued a casual slow saunter toward him. One man held his arm behind him and the silhouette of a rifle barrel poked out.
The leader held up a badge with his left hand and smiled. “What is problem, officer? We are DOE agents safeguarding shipment.”
“And I’m enforcing Wyoming law...Now, back off.”
The man in the dark pants and polo shirt continued to smile, but his voice took on a harsher tone. “You cannot detain our vehicles...We are on government mission...”
“I don’t care who you work for...”
The silhouette came out from behind his companion and Howard recognized it as an H&K MP5. At the same time, the man with the badge began to reach behind his back.
“All right, everybody...Hold it right there!” Howard tried to draw his weapon, but a round fired from the cab struck him in the back of the head before he cleared the holster. His eyes rolled up and his lifeless body fell face-first to the pavement in a crumpled heap.
“Why did you shoot, imbecile?” Gregori hissed at Viktor.
“He was going to shoot you.”
“Situation was under control...I would convince him to give up weapon...Now we must clean up mess.”
Gregori paced back and forth mumbled, “I say to everybody do not shoot, is this not so? You think you are smarter than me?”
“I was only thinking of protecting my Bacc...So I take action...like you say.”
Gregori stopped pacing and stared at Viktor. “You are right...I do not like that militsiya is dead, but is better than being captured.”
He fired his pistol into the dead patrolman. “Put him in patrol car...Soak with petrol, then throw incendiary grenade in.”
Vi
ktor glanced in the rearview mirror as he worked his way through eighteen gears and gathered speed. The raging conflagration faded from view, as did the smell of burning gasoline and flesh.
BSOG COMMAND CENTER
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN AFS, COLORADO
“Thanks, again for your hospitality,” Bart Winfield directed the remark to Lieutenant Colonel Oglesby as they stood in the last section of Building 8 inside the mountain complex. “And for helpin’ to get our offices put together.” Bart tried to hold any mocking tone from his voice.
“You’re welcome, Colonel...Believe we’ve gone through the whole routine...parking, entry and exit procedures...You’ve had the safety and security briefings and gotten your badges and matching ID,” he read out loud from a checklist on a clipboard. “Here are the keys to your office...”
“Won’t need ‘em...We replaced the locks and installed biometric security devices to do retina and fingerprint scans.”
“You give the codes to our people?”
“No, why?”
“Regulations...Fire and Security must be able to access the area, in case there’s a problem.”
“Won’t be necessary...We’ll have security people here 24/7...”
“Look, that may have been okay wherever else you’ve worked, but not here.” His jaw was set and his tone indicated he would go toe-to-toe with Bart, if necessary. “This is one of the most secure facilities in the Air Force...”
“Appreciate that...It’s one of the reasons we’re here. This particular buildin’ was designed and built by NSA to their specifications during the construction of this complex. You might say we own it, even though it sits in your facility...We’ve just been loanin’ it out to the Air Force till it was needed.”
“This is highly irregular...Need to talk to my people...”
“I already have and believe your bosses’ boss has too. Anyway, stop by when you’re in the neighborhood for a cup of coffee...But call before you do...door’ll more’n likely be locked.”
Bart pointed toward the entrance to their private office complex. It resembled a miniature version of the blast doors at the front of the complex. “Unless you have something else, we have a staff meetin’.”
“Thankfully, that’s all,” Oglesby said through pursed lips. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of urgent business.”
“‘predate that...Why I wanted to get in here ASAP. You know, mission-oriented and all that...So, till I see you again, have yourself a peachy-keen day.”
“Right back atcha,” Oglesby replied with no less sarcasm.
Bart turned to Agent Onkst and nodded. Bob motioned to Ted Belk, his team’s lead sniper. Belk leaned in to a retina scanner, inserted his left finger in a reader next to it and entered a six-digit code with his right hand.
A light above them changed from crimson to bright green and he spun the wheel in the center of the massive door. A series of precision gears drove titanium steel rods through the reinforced steel frame of the doorway. It would take a major explosive charge to get through the portal.
The group filed in and Belk swung the door shut. He spun the wheel and a red light above the door illuminated. Onkst turned to Bart. “Command Center is secure, sir.”
“Thanks, Gunny. If you’ll excuse us, we’re going back to my office...Be out touch for a coupla hours...Call me only if it’s critical.”
DIRECTOR’S OFFICE, NSA
FORT MEADE, MD
“I would be delighted to play chess tonight, Director...Would seven be agreeable?” Justin Todd spoke as casually as he could. Thought he’d never call. “Yes, sir, I will bring the files you requested. I will be coming straight from the office...Do you think you could have your housekeeper prepare something to eat? Or, perhaps you would prefer that I pick up something on the way.”
The Director’s voice was softer than usual. It was obvious he was still recovering from the effects of the drugs. “Don’t trouble yourself, Justin. I’ll have Maria fix us both something. My appetite is finally coming back...Be nice to break bread with somebody other than my staff...And yes, seven’s fine...See you then.”
“I look forward to it, sir.”
His Consortium contact had already told him the drug was accumulative in the system, which meant even a small dose tonight should put the Director back in bed for three or four more days. It would start to take effect four to six hours after Justin left, avoiding a direct connection with his visit.
Justin’s reverie was interrupted by the opening of the inner office door. Marvin Hawkins walked out with briefcase in hand and paused next to his desk. “Realize it may seem a little early, but I have urgent business to attend to.”
Justin glanced at the wooden clock on his desk and noted it was just after one. “Will you be back in time for your three o’clock staff meeting?”
“That today? No, ‘fraid not...Move it to tomorrow...”
“Tomorrow afternoon is taken up with the weekly status briefing.”
“Which is so boring I have to fight to stay awake.”
“The only other time you have available would be eight-thirty tomorrow morning...”
“Have to leave home at seven-thirty...Won’t work.”
“I am not sure what you want me to do then.”
“Think of something, or do I have to do all the petty scheduling?”
“No, sir, of course not...I will rearrange your schedule. For my edification, have you finished the Daily Incident Reports?”
“No, why?”
“DIRs are classified, sir, as I believe I have mentioned on more than one occasion...They need to be secured in the Classified Records Vault at the end of the day.”
“Lock them in my office safe...Nobody’ll know the difference.”
“Regulations say they are to be returned to the CRV at the close of business...That is why it is open twenty-four hours a day.”
“I don’t care what some damn bureaucrat says...I’m the Acting Director and I want them locked them in my safe...Is that clear?”
“Indeed it is, sir.”
“Good...Glad you’re starting to understand how things work...Anything else?”
“There was a question about the BlackStar Ops Group’s new offices in Colorado, but I believe I settled the matter...If you would like the details...”
“Not really...Long as it was handled.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right, then...See you in the morning.”
He nodded and Hawkins strolled out of the office. Justin smiled and worked on rescheduling the rest of the day—after he turned off the micro-recorder hidden behind a box of tissues on his desk.
CONSORTIUM MISSILE SILO COMPLEX
NEAR DEER TRAIL, COLORADO
ONE MONTH BEFORE
Ivan Tcharnovsky sat behind the massive wooden desk with a conference table in front of it that formed a T and watched the seven managers sitting around the table.
Some stretched and yawned while others picked at breakfast food that came from a steam table set against the wall. The cloying smell of cafeteria-style food was oppressive, especially at five-eighteen in the morning. They were waiting for the last of their fellow managers to appear, since it was twelve minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin.
Konstantin Kazakov, Physical Plant Manager, leaned over toward Vladislav Zhiglov, Support Manager. “Vlad, my friend, is there way to put more variety into breakfast? I grow tired of same menu everyday.”
They spoke English, which was the operating language of all Consortium facilities.
“What...You do not like tasty fare my staff provides?”
“No, is not that...Food is perfectly prepared...My compliments to staff. I only wish we could have more than same three items every day...Porridge, dry toast, and sausages.”
“Did you not notice three different breads and two kinds of sausage?”
“Yes, but fruit and eggs would nice.”
“Good news, then...I push food distribution contract through pett
y bureaucrats in main office...Soon, will be better variety.”
“Why long delay?”
“Commissioner does not wish massive amounts of food coming here. Cover story says we have staff of forty...Would not be good for supplies for over one hundred people invoiced to one location. Instead, we will have three different distributors from Denver, Colorado Springs and Cheyenne, Wyoming.”
“Consortium has locations in many places. They have done good job hiding them...” Konstantin, or Kazzie, as his friends called him, was interrupted by Tcharnovsky.
“Drugov will not come to meeting...I am told last night’s supper did not agree. He is in toilet and has been for most of night. Vlad, are you poisoning my staff?”
It was a good-natured jab and Vlad took it that way. “If he was more careful where his mouth has been, he might not be sick. Tell him stay away from that secretary, Katerina. Her name may mean pure, but who knows how clean she is, eh?”
The five people around the table laughed, even Irina, who led the administrative staff. “I cannot keep them from each other,” she exclaimed. “Best we can do is have doctor check them regularly to be sure they have not killed each other.”
The comment brought another laugh from the group and Ivan finally waved his hands up and down. “I see we have awakened everyone around table, so we will proceed. Mikhail, please tell me everything is good in Computer and Communications Center.”
“On schedule, Bacc. I am happy to be saying mainframe is up and running...Should be online within days...Most administrative staff have terminal for word processing and records management on desk.”
Mikhail hesitated. “I know you push silo crews hard, but would be much easier to communicate if Antenna Silo worked. Portable antennae are difficult to put up and take down every night...”
“Yes, yes, I agree,” he replied and addressed the rest of the group, “There is problem with lifting system that has been underwater so long. I am optimistic situation will be resolved within one month...Parts must come from overseas.
“Let us proceed with next item...Team of operatives will soon be here. They are on mission of utmost importance to Consortium and may be here for some time. They bring with them material to be guarded at all costs. Is fortunate elevator works now...Will make task easier. Turn to page 19 in daily summary...We discuss plan.”
