“I’m only interested in your end. Do you have a plan?”
“Not yet, I’m missing something important. It’s right under my nose and I can’t see it.”
“I need something substantive.”
“Do you think we could call in an air strike, maybe put a Predator over that farm?”
“You’re crazy. An air strike on the continental United States? No way.”
“Then I’ll have to think of something else. Have fun with the President.”
Chapter 51
The two SEALs dried off in the motel room while Ike uploaded to Langley the pictures he’d taken of the men on the yacht and on the shore. He turned his attention to the blow-ups of the land. He traced a line from the shed to the area in the water where he’d thought the submerged missiles were.
“Sailor,” he said, “What do you make of these pictures? By the way, what are your names?”
“I’m Constantine Papadopoulos—they call me Connie—and this here is Whaite Hungerford.”
“I had a deputy once named Whaite. Good man.”
“Where’s he now, sir?”
“Please don’t call me sir. The name’s Ike. Whaite died, LOD, last winter. Some moron ran him off the road in a snowstorm. Left a wife and kids.” He pointed to the stack of photographs. “Either of you see anything?”
“Jesus, those are satellite pictures of the place we were just at. You guys took all of them?”
“Littoral, that’s coastline, Surveillance Scan—photos taken by a satellite in synchronous orbit over this area.”
The two SEALs spread the pictures across the two twin beds and studied them. Ike had arranged them in rough chronological order. Charlie knocked and entered.
“Why aren’t you on your sailboat?”
“Ike, it’s getting cold out there, and besides, there is nothing for me to do. I took the dinghy and rowed ashore. Right now, I’m beat and plan to take a nap. What are all these pictures doing on the bed?”
“No nap. We are in a mess. Time is ticking away. The movers and shakers in Washington think we’re nuts and are about to precipitate an international incident, and I am—”
“Getting grumpy, but that’s nothing new. So, what can we do we have not already done?”
“We need to find the Sunburn or Sunburns. Help us out. Study these pictures and tell me what I’m missing. If the launchers are not in the water, where are they?”
The four men sifted through the pictures.
“I have a question, Ike. What is that duck blind doing over deep water? I mean don’t they put them in the shallows and shoot over the feeding grounds? This blind ain’t worth the money it took to build.”
Ike nodded. “I’ve wondered about that, too. What they have done, I think, is dredge a channel for the Saifullah. When they were done with that end of the operation, they stuck that blind in the channel to make us think the water was shallow and cover their tracks.”
“Come winter, that thing will wash away.”
“The least of their worries. They’ll be long gone.”
The group turned their attention back to the photographs.
“This place used to be a farm, didn’t it? We saw that tractor in the barn.”
Charlie nodded. “Yes. I believe it originally included the acreage across the road, but when the place was sold, the house and ten acres were split off. The owners, who held it before our friends bought it, used it for hunting and fishing. Why do you ask?”
Connie waved a photo around, “I was wondering where the silo was at. I always thought farms had, you know, silos.”
“Not all. Only the ones that feed cows, dairy farms or farms with a small herd, beef operations, like that. Horse farms, farms that deal strictly in harvested crops might not.”
“How come you know all this stuff, Charlie? I never figured you for a country boy. You should move down to the valley with me. On second thought, don’t. You cause me enough trouble right where you are.”
“Thank you for that vote of confidence. My grandparents had a farm near the Pennsylvania line. When I was small, I would visit them in the summer.”
Ike slapped his hand on the table. “Silo,” he said. “Silos. That’s it. Somewhere out in the wilds of Wyoming or wherever, there are silos. Not the kind filled with molasses covered, chopped alfalfa, but ICBMs. Missile silos.”
“Yes, so?”
“They must have built a silo for the Sunburn, don’t you see?”
“Ike you all scoured that place. True, it was dark, but you would have found something as big as a missile silo.”
“Maybe. Charlie, call your pals back at the store and have them download all the surveillance for the last year again, to our computer.”
“You don’t have enough memory on this hard drive to do that, Ike.”
“Then tell them to make us a new, complete set and fly them here ASAP. In the meantime we’ll have to make do with what we have.”
***
By late afternoon several thousand photographs had been delivered and sat in stacks on the table, the chairs, the beds, and the floor.
“You wanted them, you got them,” Charlie said. “Now what.”
“We’re looking for a pretty big excavation to appear and then disappear. First let’s eliminate things we don’t want to waste time with, and then concentrate on the possibilities. For example, we assume the Saifullah arrived every twenty-eight days, and we can date those arrivals, forward and backward, from the Fourth of July. Since we know the missile was off-loaded on the Fourth of July, whatever accommodation needed to be made for them had to have been completed by then. We should go back from there. I’m guessing they dug a hole somewhere. It would have to be deep and wide so that there could be a system for venting the gasses produced at launch.”
Charlie picked up a stack and dropped it into the trashcan. “These are all post-Fourth of July.”
“The area is largely wooded except for here,” Ike put a finger on the clear area bordering the bay. “I don’t think they would have tried to dig in the woods. But if they did, they’d have to cut down trees, and that should be obvious.”
They sat in silence and slowly turned over pictures. Connie got up and called for room service to send up a pot of coffee and sandwiches. When it arrived, the aroma of the coffee and the food brightened their spirits somewhat.
“I don’t have anything,” Charlie announced, and reassembled the stack at his feet.
“They were doing some dredging and built a bulkhead, is that right?” Connie asked.
“Yeah. They had a permit to create a channel for a boat slip. They started to build the dock. You can see it, here next to the bulkhead, but didn’t finish it.”
“I remember the dock from last night. It’s pretty rickety, if you ask me. Big son-of a-bitch, isn’t it?”
“Now that you mention it, it is. You’d expect it to be narrow across the face of the bulkhead and then send an arm out into the water.”
“I remember walking across it and it, like, wobbled. You’d think they would have secured it to the ground with four by fours set in concrete. That’s the way you build a deck. Anyway, the reason I asked about the dredging is because there is something screwy about this bit.”
“Where?”
“Well, look. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were dredging on the wrong side of the bulkhead in this picture and about a dozen after that. See, the hose that’s on the removal end of the pump is back behind the stones of the wall.”
Ike studied the sequence of shots. “You’re right. They are not filling in that area. They are making it deeper.”
“There’s something else. The next day the hole is gone, filled up or something.”
The pictures beyond that showed a smooth surface, as if the ground had been filled and leveled.
“That’s got to be it. The wooden platform is not fixed to four by fours because they want it to be moveable. The damned things are underneath it.”
Charlie,
frowning, waved a picture at Ike. “But this picture shows the ground as filled in.”
Ike took the picture and squinted. “Connie, Whaite, you have younger eyes. Is that a line marking the area?”
The two men stared at the photo. “Yep. Looks like a tarp, like maybe they pulled it across and covered the edges with dirt.”
The phone rang.
Chapter 52
“I’m guessing that’s the director of the CIA and that he does not have good news for us from his visit to the White House. Either way, I don’t think I want to hear it,” Ike said. “Connie, you answer and take a message. Charlie and I are not here.”
Constantine Papadopoulos picked up. “Hello.” Ike could just make out the director’s voice but not what was said. “No, sir, they’re not here. No, sir, I don’t know when they’ll be back.” Connie winked at Ike. “Yes, sir…yes, sir…I understand, sir. I’ll tell him as soon as he returns.”
“What’s the bad news, Connie?”
“Well, it’s pretty much what you’d expected, I guess. He said you, we, were to stand down. You’re to wait for some FBI guys to get here, bring them up to speed, and then do whatever they ask you to do. They’ll be here tomorrow morning early.”
“That’s it?”
“No, something else, but it didn’t quite fit the rest. He did say you were to use the Paris protocol, whatever that means.”
“He said Paris, you’re sure of that?”
“Paris. Yes, he said Paris. Does that mean something to you?”
“Oh, yeah. Charlie, it’s Paris.”
“Lord, love a duck.”
“Does anyone know what happened to the ATF’s fancy black PBR?”
“It’s still in the marina, but I think the crew is gone.” Charlie said. “I’m afraid to ask, but why?”
“In a minute. I have to make a call and I need an untraceable phone. Hold the fort and order us up some more food.”
Ike left the motel room and searched for a pay phone, a relative rarity in an age of ubiquitous cell phones. But fortunately, motels cling to a service standard that includes the possibility that a guest may not have succumbed to the brave new world of electronic excess.
After he conned the desk clerk out of a dollar’s worth of change, he called Bunky, who was less than happy to hear from him again. However, when he heard what Ike had in mind and that he would be thumbing his nose at the government, he jumped at the chance.
“I’ll be there, you bet. You want I should bring some of the boys with me?”
“Not this time. See you at nine.”
Back at the room, he faced the two hard-eyed SEALs.
“Charlie here says the Paris Protocol refers to a time in the past when, in spite of direct orders, you went ahead and did what you thought was right at the time. It turned out all right and so, after chewing you out pretty good, you got a commendation. Is that it?”
“Pretty much.”
“So he’s saying you should do what you think needs to be done in this case, but he won’t support you if you fail.”
“In a nutshell, that’s it. Now, I can’t do this alone. I need help. I don’t draw my paycheck from Uncle, but you three do, so, I can’t expect you to risk unemployment and your retirement benefits for a loose cannon like me, but…”
“I don’t know about Connie,” Whaite said, “but I didn’t join the SEALs for their retirement benefits. I’m game. You have a plan, I take it.”
“If I understand the threat to the country we’re looking at right…well, count me in.” Connie added. Charlie sighed and nodded his agreement, too.
“Okay. We need to stay out of sight and out of touch until nine, sorry, twenty-one hundred hours.”
***
At eight-thirty, clouds swept in from the northeast to cover their activities once again. Ike thanked whatever deity might be responsible for darkness. At nine, Bunky met them on the pier. Somewhere he’d conjured up what he supposed must be appropriate covert action attire: black coveralls, watch cap, and burnt cork on his face. To be fair, the two SEALs, Charlie, and Ike looked similar. The only real difference being the professional touches of grease paint and the gadgetry festooned to the belts about their waists.
“Bunky, can you get us out of here?” Ike asked.
“You got the key to this beauty?” Bunky grinned.
Ike turned and looked inquiringly at the others. The all shook their heads. Not a good start.
“No, I guess not.”
“No problem. There’s a trick to unbuttoning these old boats.” He stepped over the side. “Just be a second.”
Bunky had his back turned so Ike could not see what he did or how he managed do it, but within minutes, they were aboard, the engine humming, orders barked to the two sailors to cast off, and with Captain Crispins at the helm.
***
The prow of the boat bumped gently against the muddy beach. They put ashore downwind from the property, just beyond the stone bulkhead. Night-vision goggles in place, they worked their way carefully along the shoreline, toward the decking that they assumed formed the cover of the silo holding one or more Sunburns. He ordered Bunky offshore, ten yards or so, and told him to hold that position until he saw their signal. Then he was to come in and evacuate them.
If the guard were in position, they would have their work cut out for them. The best they could do, if that were the case, is silence him, spike the missiles, and hope enough time would pass before the rest of the people on shore discovered it for them to call home and have the ships at sea take out the freighters and their deadly cargo.
Like the clouds overhead, the four men drifted along the shoreline. At the bulkhead, they paused and scanned the trees for guards. None in sight. They sidled forward, keeping low and moving with the shadows. At the deck they paused. Ike leaned over and attempted to lift it. It didn’t budge. All four of them managed only to move it forward a few inches.
“We’ve got to get this thing shifted,” Ike murmured.
“Not going to happen,” Charlie gasped. Ike would have mentioned how too much time at his desk had cost him a step, but that would have to be later.
“Maybe we can lever up an edge,” Whaite said, “and then one of us can slip under and take a peek.”
Ike couldn’t think of a better idea, and he worried that the guard might appear at anytime. “Okay, you three lever it up and I’ll slip in.”
“Ike, with respect, but either me or Connie should do it. Like, we’re sort of used to this stuff and…”
“Whaite, you’d be better, faster, and all that, but I’m expendable, none of the rest of you are. Now find me a lever.”
The SEALs hesitated.
“He’s right,” Charlie said quietly. “Let’s get him in and out quick.”
It took a moment, but Connie, who’d disappeared into the night, returned with a long four-by-four. Ike paced the deck slowly and then pointed to the westernmost corner.
“Lift here.”
The board slipped under the edge, and the deck lifted enough for Ike to roll under. As he expected, there was ample room for him to crawl around after the deck dropped back in place. Somewhere to his left there should be a sharp drop off into the deep excavation holding the silos.
“Ike,” Charlie rasped, “We have company.”
“Drop out of sight, and wait.” He heard the three men scuttle away toward the bay. He felt, more than heard, the booted footsteps as the guard paced across the deck. Ike held his breath and waited. If the guard decided to hold this post for any length of time, Ike would have a serious problem.
Chapter 53
The footsteps retreated to the other end of the decking. Ike rolled away from the edge. His fingers found the ridge of earth covering the tarp’s edge. He paused and listened. Silence. The tarp’s edge lifted easily. He slipped under it and rolled forward. Before he could stop himself, he slid down the rough earthen side of the excavation, sending a shower of damp soil and mud before him. He landed awkwardly in t
he pitch black. He waited, frozen in place, for a reaction, some sign that the guard above him might have heard something.
Ike had slipped the supersensitive dosimeter in the pocket of his jumpsuit. He checked to make sure it hadn’t been damaged in the slide. He’d also hung a variety of utilities on a web belt about his waist.
“You look like Batman,” Charlie had said. “Does that make me Robin?”
“No, you’re the Joker.”
He unclipped a penlight and risked a quick scan of the canvas above him. There did not appear to be a gap. The tarpaulin, he knew, was heavy and would not show any light on the other side if it remained in place. He pivoted to inspect the area. He needed to attend to the missiles. He’d worry about the guard overhead later. He swung the light across the interior of the pit they’d seen in the photographs.
The area was a roughly oval hole perhaps fifteen feet deep and thirty feet across. It had not been lined, but some two-by-fours braced against plywood sheets buttressed the wall in a few places. Clods of earth had fallen here and there and built small piles in several locations. A rude, handcrafted ladder leaned against the far wall. In the center were two steel launching ramps, and on them were two Sunburns.
Ike checked the edges of the canvas again. Reassured that no light escaped, he tried the radio.
His voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Charlie, can you hear me?”
The answer seemed staticy but clear. “We have you, Ike.”
“You need to tell me where that guard is at all times.”
“Roger that. He’s still at the far end of the deck. What have you got?”
“I’m in the pit. There are two Sunburns down here on launchers they must have assembled in place.” Ike slowly swung the light beam back and forth and searched the floor and the missiles.
“An umbilical runs from each of them and is gathered into a single cable that exits the pit toward the shed. I’m certain it’s the same one I tripped over when we inspected the property.”
“The guard’s coming back. Out.”
5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5 Page 24
