by M. Z. Kelly
After arriving in Boulder, I was met by a military transport, and we drove north to Longmont. I met up with Stan Waters and Jack Logan down the street from a small house on the outskirts of town. The weather was frigid, with about a foot of snow on the ground.
“This residence was rented to a Captain Phillip Allen about three months ago,” Waters said. “He works out of a local duty station. We’ve affirmatively tied him to obtaining the unauthorized use of the drone Caine used. We had a search warrant come through about twenty minutes ago.”
“Why would an Air Force captain give Caine access to a military drone?” I asked.
Logan answered. “We can only assume Caine used some kind of influence to manipulate him, maybe blackmail.”
“We have military Special Forces teams standing by,” Waters said. “Along with lots of hardware, including a helicopter, if needed.”
Five minutes later, Waters got a radio call, telling him that the Special Forces teams were in place. “We are a go when you’re ready,” he told the team leader. “Deadly force is authorized, but we need to take Allen alive, if possible.”
After he ended the radio call, we waited at a vacant lot up the street from the house while the military made entry. It took less than five minutes for the team leader to get back to Waters, telling him the residence was secure and empty.
“Let’s move up the street and check the house,” Waters said to Logan and me. “We need to determine if there’s any further evidence linking Caine to Captain Allen.”
We spent the next twenty minutes going through the residence, concentrating on a home office. That’s where Logan hit pay dirt.
Logan held up a burner phone. “Allen’s been in contact with Caine about somebody named James Randolph, who also lives here in Longmont. It’s not clear from the texts exactly what they want from Randolph, but Caine made it clear he was going to contact him.”
“Give me the address,” Waters said. “I’ll have our teams move out now. We’re not waiting for a warrant.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
After leaving the house where Lindsay was held captive, Caine picked up Captain Allen at a motel, and they made the hour’s drive north to Warren Air Force Base in Wyoming. After Allen commented on his appearance, telling Caine that he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and James Randolph if they were standing side by side, he asked him if he had the hot launch codes.
Caine recited the codes aloud, causing Allen to blanch. “H...how did y...you get them?” he stammered.
“That’s not your concern. Tell me about the protocol once we arrive at the base.”
Allen tugged on his collar but didn’t look at the terrorist. “How do I know my daughter will be safe once...after...after everything is over?”
“I’ve given orders to my personnel at the hospital to immediately leave once we’re operational.” He glanced at Allen as he drove. The truth was, he had no one at the hospital, but knew the lie was convincing. “You have my solemn promise that I will have no further interest in your daughter once everything is completed.”
Allen took a breath and began explaining the procedures once they reached the Air Force base. “After we pass through the security gates, we’ll go to the ready room. It’s really just a converted hangar where the crews assemble. All shifts are twenty-four hours in length. There should be about twenty crew members changing shifts for base operations when we arrive. As far as I know, we’re the only upgrade techs on the duty roster.
“After we’re in the ready room, there’s a standard test and interview. It’s called a PERP, named for the military’s Personality Evaluation and Reliability Program. It’s basically a psychological test, followed by a brief interview with one of the shrinks. Their job is to weed out anyone who might be having personal problems that would make them unstable.”
Caine chuckled. “It must not be too difficult if you managed to pass.”
Captain Allen didn’t smile. “You need to tell them everything in your life is going well. If you hint there’s any instability or personal problems, you’ll be grounded and sent home.”
Caine looked at Allen again. “That shouldn’t be a problem, unless they realize I’m a dead man.”
Allen’s features became pinched. “You murdered Randolph?”
“How do you think I got the mask of his face?”
Perspiration beaded on Allen’s forehead. “This feels like things are already out of hand.”
Caine removed a gun from his pocket and pulled the car to the side of the road. He then brought the weapon up to the captain’s head.
“Listen up, Captain Allen. You screw this up in any way and you’re a dead man. Then I’ll have my people go after your daughter.” He pushed the gun hard into Allen’s temple. “When she dies, it will be so slow and painful that she’ll think the cancer was a picnic.”
Allen’s body shook. His voice wavered, as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want, exactly as you say. I promise.”
Caine tossed him the keys to the car. “You’re driving the rest of the way.”
As the miles rolled by, the two men rode in silence. Caine wasn’t completely convinced Allen would cooperate, but he knew the captain’s daughter was the best leverage he could have. He intended to use that to his fullest advantage again, if necessary.
As they neared the fenced perimeter of Warren Air Force Base, Caine said, “Let’s go over the rest of the procedures.”
Allen’s voice was weak but controlled. “After the PERP, there will be a briefing about procedures, weather conditions, anything they feel is relevant to operations. After that, we travel with the Launch Control Center personnel to the silo, the ‘Green Dragon’, as they call it. Before we’re allowed inside the LCC, there’s a further identification check, a code verification, and then the final hand print scan.” He looked at Caine’s hands. “You think you can pass?”
Caine ignored his question. “Tell me about the code verification.”
“Each LCC crew member is given a daily code prior to leaving the ready room. You just need to repeat the code to the security personnel at the silo. It assures them that nothing’s happened between the briefing and our arrival at the silo.”
Their entry into the Air Force base was uneventful, Caine showing the credentials he had stolen from James Randolph. After arriving at the ready room, he and Allen were directed to the PERP offices, where they were each given a form to complete. Caine scanned the questionnaire, seeing that it was similar to an MMPI, a standard personality inventory test. The questions were designed to determine emotional stability within designated parameters. He breezed through the questionnaire, giving it to the receptionist before waiting to be interviewed.
Dr. Edward Sobel was Caine’s assigned shrink. As he took a seat across from the man, he sized up the psychologist. Sobel was in his fifties, wiry, with thinning gray hair and a mottled complexion. There was a photograph of a girl, probably his granddaughter, on the shelf behind him. The psychologist didn’t have a wedding ring. Caine thought it likely he was divorced, going through the motions of a job that held little interest for him. As he studied Sobel’s ruddy complexion, a thought crossed Caine’s mind that the shrink might be an alcoholic, sobering up just long enough to do a thankless job.
After exchanging pleasantries, Sobel reviewed the questionnaire Caine had completed. He then looked up, saying, “Everything looks in order.” He paused, his eyes fixing on him. Caine shifted nervously as the shrink went on. “What’s the most difficult issue you’ve had to deal with in the past few weeks?”
Caine had reviewed Randolph’s credentials and knew the dead weapons specialist would have turned forty-three in a week. He smiled. “I guess it hasn’t happened yet. I’ll have another birthday soon.”
“Does it bother you, getting older?”
Caine felt uncomfortable as the psychologist continued to study him. He had a fleeting thought that the shrink had somehow seen through his disguise. “I
guess, a little. It certainly beats the alternative, but I’m sensitive to getting older, like everyone.”
“Ever feel depressed?”
Caine hesitated before answering. “Everyone gets down from time to time. I...”
“I’m not talking about everyone, Mr. Randolph. I’m talking about you.”
He was now worried that the shrink had picked up on something from his test. “No, never depressed. Maybe just a little down from time to time, but it never lasts.”
“How long would you say these down times last?”
“Maybe an hour or so, never longer.”
“And what makes you feel down?”
Caine resisted the urge to grab the shrink by his skinny neck and squeeze the life out of him. He pretended to stammer. “I...I don’t know, really. I guess...maybe when things are difficult between Elaine and me.”
“Your wife?”
A nod.
“What kind of difficulties are you talking about?”
“Oh, just the occasional disagreements, nothing serious.” He smiled. “Her mother sometimes visits, puts a bit of a strain on things.”
“Is she currently visiting?”
“No, not until this summer.”
Sobel sniffed, leaned back in his chair. Caine sensed the shrink was satisfied about the area of concern he’d picked up on. The remainder of the interview consisted of questions about his relationship with his daughter, friends, and relatives, which Caine had prepared for. After a bit of small talk, Sobel handed him a slip of paper and dismissed him.
Caine drank coffee in the ready room, before Captain Allen joined him. “Passed,” he whispered. “You?”
A nod. “Good to go.”
Ten minutes later, they assembled in the briefing room, with several young Air Force officers. The base commander, a Colonel Ben Coleman, gave them a briefing, including the local weather conditions, before mentioning the system modifications that he and Allen would be completing.
“We have upgrade techs doing work on the K-09 Launch Control Center. The LCC will be offline for several hours during those procedures. We also have reported glitches at K-16. That facility will also be offline while the duty crews run standardized testing with MAF until compliance is indicated. All other LCC’s are reporting hot and ready status.”
Caine had no idea what MAF was. As the commander went on, his anxiety level spiked over another issue.
“One other item is extremely important, so listen up. We have NEST teams doing operations in the vicinity of Longmont, Colorado. That activity is because the terrorist, Nathan Caine, who is responsible for what recently happened in DC, is reported to possibly be in the area. We have no reason to believe what’s happening there will affect our operations, but I want all security personnel to be at the highest level of readiness.”
As the briefing ended, Caine and Allen were given their daily codes. Caine told Allen he would catch up with him in a moment and made his way over to the base commander.
“I’m looking forward to doing quick work on the system upgrades,” Caine said, introducing himself as James Randolph and doing his best to imitate the weapons specialist’s voice, even though he doubted the commander had ever spoken to him. He held out his right hand.
Coleman grunted, barely made eye contact, but shook his hand. “See that you do. We don’t need any unnecessary delays.”
After leaving the commander, Caine made a quick stop in the restroom, where he used an antiseptic solution on his right hand to wash off the botulinum, taking care not to harm the latex molding on the fingers of his left hand. The toxin was the gold standard when it came to poisons, more effective than Sarin. He didn’t know how long it would take the substance he’d placed on the colonel’s hand to kill him, but if Coleman touched his nose or mouth, he knew it could be only a matter of minutes. All Caine needed was for the colonel to be ill enough to buy him some time, if it became necessary.
As Caine joined Captain Allen and his assigned duty crew, his breath was now coming in short hard gasps. Even as they piled into the Humvee for transport to the missile silo, Caine realized he was perspiring heavily beneath the latex appliances that concealed his identity, and his pacemaker did little to control his rapid, uneven heartbeat.
The authorities had somehow tracked him to Longmont. He knew it was just a matter of time before they realized his intentions. He checked the time. If all went well, he would be in the missile silo and in control of operations in less than an hour. Timing was everything. He just prayed that his luck would hold out.
SIXTY-EIGHT
James Randolph lived less than twenty minutes from the house Captain Phillip Allen had rented. It was a two-story home, down a long driveway. While we waited for the Special Forces unit to enter the house, Waters call Captain Allen’s duty station and got hold of an airman.
After ending the call, Waters expressed his frustration. “Allen’s subordinates say they report directly to him. They’re going to try and contact someone up the military chain of command, but I’m not holding my breath.” He worked his phone again. “In the meantime, I’m calling the secretary of defense.”
While Waters was waiting to get through to the secretary, the Special Forces unit made quick entry, the team leader calling over the radio to tell us of their findings. “Three down inside.”
The military realized that power to the house had been shut off, but managed to restore the electricity, as I entered the residence with Waters and Logan. As the lights in the house flickered to life and we went upstairs, we saw bloody footprints on the carpet leading to the bedrooms. We found a woman in the master bedroom with her throat cut, probably Randolph’s wife.
After we entered the bedroom next door, my breath caught in my throat. A girl, who we assumed was Randolph’s daughter, was on the floor. Her throat had been slashed, and she had numerous cuts on her naked body. Her father’s body was nearby. He had been stabbed in the chest. There was a white powdery substance covering his face and hands that gave him a ghostly, otherworldly appearance.
“It looks like some kind of plaster,” Logan said, examining the body. His voice pitched higher as he realized what he was seeing. “Somebody must have made a mask of the guy.”
“Caine,” Waters and I said at the same time. Waters continued, as he still waited on the line for the defense secretary. “He must have assumed his identity.”
Logan stood. “Who the hell is this Randolph guy, and why is Caine assuming his identity?”
“Let’s search this place, see if we can figure that out. Time is of the essence.”
We moved out, going through different rooms in the house. I found a small desk in one of the bedrooms, where I glanced through some paperwork. I snatched up the papers, and breathlessly dashed out of the room. I found Waters and Logan in another bedroom.
“Randolph’s a nuclear weapons specialist.” I held up the papers. “It looks like he’s been assigned some kind of upgrade to a weapons system at Warren Air Force Base.”
We began running for our cars, as Waters finally got the defense secretary on his phone. His voice was urgent and strained. “I need you to contact the commander of Warren Air Force Base and have him place James Randolph under arrest. I have reason to believe he’s compromised national security.”
SIXTY-NINE
Caine and Allen rode in the back of the Humvee, as the duty crew drove them to the K-09 installation. They were accompanied by two officers, who, Caine assumed, were the relief missile launch crew. The officers looked like they were in their twenties and belonged in a college library, rather than being in charge of the most powerful weapons on earth. He had little doubt they would be easily manipulated when the time came.
The missile silo was several miles from the duty station, and the trip was made even slower by the icy road conditions. Caine’s thoughts lingered on the base commander. With any luck, Coleman would be incapacitated—if not dead—by now, his illness undetectable.
The terrorist glance
d over at his companion. Allen kept his eyes lowered, not looking at him. Caine knew that their entry into the LCC would be a critical moment. If Allen began to waver, he would have to find a way to convince him to follow through on his mission. He decided not to wait for that possibility.
“Lisa,” Caine whispered.
Allen lifted his head, looked at him. “What about her?”
“What happens in the next few minutes determines if she lives or dies. Don’t forget that.”
Captain Allen nodded and released a long breath, his gaze moving away.
Twenty minutes later, when they reached the K-09 facility, some of Caine’s concerns began to ease. There had been no word from the base about imminent threats to the facility.
The entrance to the missile silo consisted of a small guard station, manned by a couple youthful officers, and housing lots of electronic equipment. An elevator nearby led to the underground Launch Control Center.
An officer, who looked barely older than the launch crew, greeted them when they entered the small station. “Let’s get you all processed and underground.”
Caine waited for the others to be processed, noticing there were two guards stationed nearby with automatic weapons. The duty crew who had brought them to the silo was also standing guard.
When it was Caine’s turn, an officer called him over. “Daily code, please.”
Caine repeated the words he’d been given at the duty station. “Sender... One... Execute... Nine... Michigan...Eagle.”
“Check,” the officer said, simultaneously reading the codes on an electronic tablet.
The second duty officer motioned to the sensor in front of Caine. “Handprint, please.”
Caine felt Allen and the launch officers watching him as he moved toward the machine. His heart was beating against his ribcage as he pulled up the sleeve of his coat. He wheezed as he placed his left hand on the device.
