BlackStar Mountain

by T C Miller

  CONSORTIUM UNDERGROUND SITE

  DEER TRAIL, COLORADO

  “I am not satisfied with security,” Gregori hissed to Rick. “Why must crew guarding weapons be half Consortium?”

  “I do not know...Commissioner and I did not discuss this...Now, he does not take my calls.”

  “Does that not worry you?”

  “Yes...I am not saying the Consortium would double-cross us, but is possible.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “I remove control modules from bombs and hide them in tunnel.” He pointed to the eight foot tall steel pipe that ran to the Control Dome. “Weapons cannot be detonated without them...Will be most difficult to find.

  “Where are they?” asked Gregori as nonchalantly as he could.

  “Why?” Rick’s eyes narrowed as he asked.

  “If something happens to you, I have no leverage.”

  “This something would also happen to you, no?”

  “Is possible...But, something as simple as illness might incapacitate you.”

  “I have thought of that and hide description of location on my person...Does that satisfy you, my friend?”

  “Yes, but only if I get it before Consortium people...Haveyou thought about that?”

  “Yes...Is risk I must take...So, you must protect me, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  BOULDER, COLORADO

  Dog handled the cumbersome Suburban with the skill and expertise that came from years of evasive driving courses and practice that included a number of real-life incidents. He steered the turbocharged beast around corners and through alleys until he found the arrangement he liked.

  The second time around a pleasant neighborhood of working class homes he pulled into a garage behind a home, quickly jumped out and closed the overhead door.

  He opened the rear door of the vehicle and extracted a MAC-11 and four magazines from a hidden storage well. Three magazines went into his jacket pockets and he slapped the last into the weapon. The charging rod slid back with the satisfying sound of oiled steel to load a round in the chamber and Dog moved to the side of the vehicle.

  “Got the girls?”

  “Affirmative...Putting body armor on them now...Got yours?”

  “Never leave home without it...Wanna watch the side?”

  “Coming out now.” Gwen stepped from the vehicle and moved to an entry door in a side wall with a window in the upper half. She held a Glock .44 in each hand and peered cautiously out. “Nothing...You?”

  “White van went by real slow,” he said in his trademark Texas accent.

  “Good job spotting them.”

  “Alarm bells went off in the back of my head...Like a job I had guarding a Mafia guy in WitSec.”

  “Experience counts.”

  “Always...Give it another ten and we’ll leave.”

  “You scared us half to death!” Star said in a trembling voice.

  “Sorry, Cupcake.”

  “Don’t call me Cupcake.”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Jackson,” he replied, in an even tone.

  Star paused and then let out a sigh. “Sorry...I’m really scared.”

  “I know...Truth be told, I was a little concerned, myself...Not used to seeing somebody so obviously tailing us...Don’t look like paparazzi or autograph hounds.”

  “Autograph hounds?” Licia asked.

  “They can be really aggressive,” Star answered. “Have had women and men come up to me in public rest rooms to ask if I’d get my mom’s autograph...Or want me to give her little gifts.”

  “Like what?”

  “Everything from stuffed animals to clothes they want her to wear on stage to promote their designs...to audition tapes.”

  “See why you need a bodyguard.”

  “No doubt...Okay, I told you my secrets...Now, tell me yours.”

  “Not much to tell...”

  “You have a bodyguard ‘cause you’re afraid of the dark?”

  “Long story...not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Oh.” Star sat back and her smile faded. “Thought we were best friends...”

  “We are,” Licia said in a quiet voice. “They think my dad was killed by Russian smugglers...Haven’t been caught, yet...”

  “Smugglers? Damn, girl...I thought crazed fans were bad. At least they aren’t trying to kill me...Well, not intentionally...So, were the guys in the white van after me or you?”

  “Don’t know.”

  COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE

  CONSORTIUM HEADQUARTERS

  The Commissioner and his partner sat across from each other in upholstered wingback chairs sipping espresso from bone-china cups that once belonged to Peter the Great, Tzar of Russia. It was a reminder that even the most powerful people in history can be outlived by their possessions. A desire to see the Consortium continue to grow beyond their time on earth motivated them almost as much as the desire for unequaled power and fortune.

  The Commissioner inhaled the savory aroma of custom-blended coffee and placed the cup and saucer on a side table. He posed a question to Stanislav, his friend and business partner of four decades. “We have known each other far too long to quarrel over minor things...Why are you uneasy at the thought of eliminating one man?”

  “I do not see an urgent need...He could be a source of much income...”

  “But also a source of potential conflict,” the Commissioner interrupted.

  “Allow me to continue...I wonder what message it would send to our associates if we eradicate this man for what appears to be a minor disagreement.”

  “I do not intend for our involvement to be known...It will appear to be an accident for which no one is to blame.”

  “A risky endeavor that might come back to haunt us...”

  “I have taken precautions, as usual...Are you afraid, perhaps, that I am growing senile?”

  “The thought never entered my mind,” Stanislav shot back. “You are as sharp now as when we were in our twenties. I trust your judgment...Any person who is an extreme threat should be eliminated. The question is, which of the men will it be, Peters, or Eichner?”

  NSA DIRECTOR’S OFFICE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  Marvin Hawkins left for his usual three-hour lunch break. Justin might have taken a chance on nobody of significance calling during the all-important DC power-lunch period, but there was the little dustup with Winfield and the chance Banner might call from California, so he summoned a body from the secretarial pool.

  “If anybody calls,” he instructed the perky young woman sitting behind his desk. “Tell them I am running an errand for the Acting Director and going to lunch.”

  He had locked all of the drawers in the desk, as well as the Director’s office door.

  “What time should I tell them you’ll be back?”

  “You must be new to Washington...Never give anybody an exact time...It can be quoted later. Simply tell them I will be back as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Mister Todd, and thank you for the opportunity to work in the executive suite...1 won’t let you down.”

  He threw his coat over his arm, picked up the valise he occasionally carried and waved over his shoulder as he walked toward the elevator lobby. “I am sure you will not,” he mumbled as he pressed the down button.

  Twenty minutes later he pulled up to the curb at his favorite dead spot and left the engine running while he dialed the satellite phone. His contact offered no greeting and picked up where the previous conversation had ended five days before.

  “Have you located the BSOG?”

  “Not precisely,” Justin replied. “I have narrowed it down to south central Colorado.”

  “We need more accurate directions. Time is running short and plans are being implemented that require them to be neutralized...Understood?”

  “Perfectly.” Justin controlled the urge to lash out at the voice on the other end. “I am afraid to inquire more aggressively, for fear of alarming my sources. They are being
led to believe we are sharing office gossip, or that the Acting Director is seeking information about the team. That pretense would quickly fall apart if one of them asked Hawkins about my information gathering.”

  “I understand, but we require more data. If you had to guess, where would you place them?”

  “I have successfully assembled bits and pieces of minutiae...For instance, correlating routine maintenance reports with possible activity of the group. Agent Benson is authorized to order helicopter support and she signed orders to waive routine inspection for an aircraft while finishing an operation. The mission required a helicopter capable of high-altitude flight. I examined classified fuel purchases and established that it flew to Nevada and then Colorado, where she released it for inspection. I cannot uncover how or when she left the state, which leads me to believe she and Johansen have been there for awhile.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Colorado would be a likely place for their permanent base. It is isolated in spots and yet close to major metropolitan areas. Given the need for intelligence capabilities and security, I would think the Cheyenne Mountain Complex and its allied support facilities is a strong possibility. There is also an operation at Buckley Air National Guard Base near Aurora that holds assets of the Air Force Space Command and NSA.”

  “Would that not be the more likely location of the BSOG?” asked the handler.

  “Cheyenne Mountain offers better security and would allow them to operate in relative secrecy. I would start the search there.”

  “Good idea...We have two operatives who infiltrated Cheyenne Mountain as contract maintenance personnel. They have reported nothing, but I’ll instruct them to look for new tenants. You have done well as usual...A bonus will be transferred to your accounts.”

  “Thank you. Have you any instructions regarding administration of more drugs to the Director?”

  “Actually, yes...Discontinue the operation and dispose of any material we gave you...The Director’s doctor may be growing suspicious...We don’t want to compromise you.”

  “Understood...How shall I proceed with other information gathering?”

  “Remain observant, but do not actively pursue contact with other NSA personnel...Unless, of course, you come across something of an urgent nature...Then, use Protocol Seven.”

  Protocol Seven meant Justin was to go to a one-man coffee shop near his condo and order a large double latte. He would then cancel it with a comment about having trouble sleeping because newlyweds upstairs kept him awake. His contact would wait for a satellite call the next day.

  “Did the information I gave you about Licia Martinez camping in Rocky Mountain National Park prove useful?”

  “It did. The matter will soon be settled.”

  “Good...If you have nothing else for me, I should return to the office.”

  “Nothing at this time.”

  BSOG COMMAND CENTER

  CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN COMPLEX

  Bart could tell Jake was excited. He strode across the cavern toward the console where Jake and Joanna were studying satellite surveillance images.

  “Y’all come across somethin’?”

  “We have,” Jake replied. “Based on that tip about a fake DOE convoy, Joanna requested archive shots from the NRO for the last seventy-two hours along the front range. Their analysts were good enough to highlight some areas we might be interested in...Take a look.”

  Jake rolled his chair away so Bart could move in closer.

  “What am I looking at?”

  Joanna answered, “Starting with the Love’s truckstop in Cheyenne, I’ve been looking at semi parking areas heading south and traced the fake convey here.”

  She pointed to an aerial view of the Mountain View Truckstop near Longmont, Colorado. “The NRO guys sent us a sequence of shots that show another semi backing up to the fake DOE trailer. It sat there for almost two hours. You can see guys with weapons guarding it.”

  “Uh, huh,” Bart replied. “Man, I can’t believe the clarity...all the way from outer space.”

  “Yep,” Jake said and grinned. “Our tax dollars at work.”

  “Do we have a handle on where they’re headed?”

  “Not exactly...Satellite was near the end of its pass and next one doesn’t go by for two hours...”

  “Two hours?”

  “Not exactly critical territory...In fact, the only reason they’re anywhere near it is because two satellites are polar oriented and happen to overfly Colorado.”

  “Like to get my hands around Marvin Hawkins neck...If he’d dedicated a satellite to the area, we’d be able to pinpoint their location. Any idea of their destination?”

  “Actually, sir,” Joanna said. “We started looking south of Longmont...figuring they might head for Denver, or east toward Kansas City...Spotted eleven trailers similar to the target.”

  “Eleven?”

  “Pretty common model...White, refrigerated and the tractor’s white. Only distinguishing feature on the tractor is a pair of high-gain CB antennas...Kinda hard to spot from above when the rig’s in motion. Thought we might be able to narrow it down by looking for the vans...Then went back to the images from the parking lot in Longmont to see if we missed anything...Sure enough, we did...Found two vans with deep window tints in another lot on the other side of the truckstop. Means they’re even harder to track. “

  “Keep looking...By the way, what were y’all doing here yesterday after your shift?”

  The guilty look exchanged between them could have easily been misinterpreted, so they both spoke at once.

  “Uh, it was, uh...” Jake began.

  “Nothing, really...We were just...” Joanna said.

  Bart held up his hands. “Before you go any further and say something I have to officially respond to, let me throw a few things at you. What you do in your off-duty time is your business. We’re not under the UCMJ here, so fraternizin’ is not an issue....We don’t have a policy on two team members hangin’ out together.. I brought it up because Matanane logged your visit. Don’t compromise the integrity of this operation...Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

  “That settles it then...Go find that semi and quit grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ persimmons.”

  “What?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “What just happened?” Jake whispered as Bart walked away.

  “Think the boss just gave us his approval.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 12

  CONSORTIUM UNDERGROUND SITE

  DEER TRAIL, COLORADO

  Gregori stepped out of the communications room in the control dome and nearly collided with Rick. “Sorry, my friend, are you going in?”

  “No, I was looking for you...What does Commissioner say?”

  “He will soon know location of Licia Martinez.”

  “Good news.”

  “Better news...She and friends make plans to hike and camp less than 200 kilometers from here.”

  “Fantastic...When?”

  “Final arrangements are being made,” Gregori replied. “Commissioner will call me when there is precise information.”

  “Who else knows of trip?”

  “Commissioner and source...Why?”

  “We should tell no one else.”

  “Men on mission need to know to prepare...Why do you wish to keep information secret?”

  Rick moved closer and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I do not trust staff....They report to Consortium.”

  “True...Even when we speak Russian, too many understand...So, is agreed, we tell no one?”

  “Agreed. Will you lead team?”

  “I am not decided...Numbers to bank accounts with millions of dollars are big temptation...Too much for even most loyal employee, I fear.”

  “Is nature of true Russian to improve life.”

  “Is true...But, not at our expense,” Gregori added. “What is next step for main project?”

  Rick
looked at a group of workers taking a smoke break further down the tunnel and murmured, “Is mystery, even for me. I wait for response from buyers.”

  “You broker weapons through Consortium...Yes?”

  “Maybe...Is one course of action. Other ways expose me to more danger than I prefer. Still, I wonder which is best.”

  “Direct contact could reveal your identity to old friends in Kremlin. Many hard-liners from old Soviet system prefer low profile...They worry about old programs being exposed if we are captured.”

  Rick scowled and slapped the wall with the palm of his hand. “They are cowards since fall of Berlin Wall...The fools cave to simpletons who worm their way into power and bow to democratic imbeciles who curry favor of masses. I have considered sending them message they will not ignore...One that will force them to become men again.”

  His face was flushed with anger and he spat the words out with machine gun-like rapidity.

  The commotion attracted the attention of Consortium workers down the hall and Gregori stepped in front of him to block their view. “Is unwise to let them know our business...They are rewarded for reports to supervisor.”

  Rick inhaled deeply and released his breath slowly. “You are right, my friend...Conversation should be private.”

  He leaned close to Gregori’s ear and whispered, “I also think listening devices are everywhere.”

  Gregori nodded and said in a loud voice in English, “You watch too many American television programs, Tvarich...Soviet Union will never return.”

  He put his arm on Rick’s shoulder and led him down the hall.

  “Regrettably, I think you are correct, Gregori.”

  They walked past the workers who returned their smiles and resumed their tasks.

  COMMISSIONER’S OFFICE

  LEIPSIG, SWITZERLAND

  “Stanislav, we have located the operations center of this Black Star Group,” the Commissioner spoke into the encrypted phone.

  “Good news...What plans do you have to eliminate it?”

  “I am assembling a European team assisted by an American ex-federal agent to neutralize the BSOG.”

  “European? Why not a team from the underground site? They are already in the area.”