by Rob Buckman
"Whoever was poking around was very careful to hide their trail,” he said looking up. "But, I can tell you one thing right now, whoever it was is in-house." The expression on his Deputy’s face was worth losing sleep to see. It astonished him that the man could be that naive. He worked inside one the largest spy organizations, yet found it surprising that someone inside that organization would try and spy on them. He chuckled and shook his head.
"You look surprised,” he said.
"Well I..." he didn't know what to say. It did surprise him.
"Section 'Ten' has been a thorn in the CIA's side for many years. You know we only report to the President, and I only report to the Director of the CIA as a courtesy." He raised a finger. "But I don't tell him everything we do, or are doing."
"I realize that Sir, but still..."
"I know, I know." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Over the years, more than one Director has tried to look in our files. So far none have succeeded."
"You think this was the Director?"
"No. This was someone else. Someone who wanted to know what we're up to."
"They know we are investigating Hawkins."
"Yes I know. It also tells me we have a rotten apple in the barrel."
"Rotten apple?"
"Yes. If whoever it was had been looking for something, they would have bypassed this search program and continued looking. They didn't, they concentrated on this search, and where it was going.
"That means that someone is on Roland Hawkins payroll." There was a note of anger in his voice.
"You've got that right. Money talks, nobody walks."
"What about 'Sunray Five'?"
"Good question. Information is being passed on to Hawkins, but there is nothing in our system to show Mike Grainger is connected with us. That file you read was the only evidence of that."
"Is that why it isn't in the computer?"
"Smart lad. All computers can be compromised, sooner or later, but if there is nothing in there to find?” MacFarland laughed. “It's a hell of a lot more difficult to get a file out of this office."
"From what I've seen, it would be easier to steal gold from 'Fort Knox' than get a hard copy of anything out of here." The Director's shark like smile answered that.
"That's the way I set it up, and if you have any sense at all, the way you will keep it." It was the first time the Deputy had any inkling he'd be the next Director of Section Ten.
"So what do we do about this?" he asked, as a way to cover his feelings.
"At the moment, nothing. Let’s see where the tracer leads us first."
As the weekly Director's meeting convened next morning, the Director of Section 'Ten' looked as fresh as a daisy. All signs of fatigue were gone. This was his meat, where the action was, not some sub-committee hearing room. Mark Helmsman took his seat at the head of the table, bring the meeting to order. For an hour, they went through the usual agenda as one by one each sub Director went over their respective activities. As usual, he declined to say anything, going on to the next in line, until everyone had had his turn. The Director slowly ticked off each person’s name and added notes to his pad as the meeting progressed. As the last man finished, he leaned back, sipping his coffee.
"Now we come to the main point of this briefing,” he said, wiping his lips on a snowy white napkin. "It has come to my attention, that despite my orders, someone is still running covert domestic spying operations,” he stopped, looking round the table.
"I don't have to tell you that the Senate intelligence sub-committee is still looking at us with a microscope. If they should find out we are running any kind of domestic operation, that department would be in serious trouble." There was movement round the table as people shifted in their seats.
"If that happens, I will not protect them, nor will any protection they think they have be of any use, and I will personally throw them to the wolves." MacFarland knew this comment was directed at him, but he'd fought this battle before, so the words rolled off him like water off a duck's back.
At least he knew one of the people at the table had gotten the word to the Director that he was running a computer search of Roland Hawkins background. He said so bluntly after the meeting had adjourned. They sat in the empty conference room, facing each other, MacFarland knowing he was about to hear the same argument again.
"Who told you we were running an investigation?" he opened, getting in the first shot.
"That doesn't matter." The Director said, but he was now on the defensive.
"Oh, but it does, he said. "You and I are the only people inside the agency who know what we do. No one outside, except for past Director and President, even knows we exist."
"Again, that's beside the point,” he said again.
"I beg to differ. How's the Senate sub-committee going to find anything if they don't know we exist? Unless someone tells them." That had the Director stumped. As far as anyone knew, Section 'Ten' was nothing more than an accounting office.” Its budget was buried so deep even the Director couldn't find it. Some of its money came in from untraceable outside sources, some from the U.S. Geological Survey, another part from the Department of Agriculture. He'd given up trying to find out where the rest of it came from.
"So why are you running a domestic operation?" the Director asked at length.
"We're not. I am simply running a search program on large money transactions and trying to find out who is funding terrorist operation here in the United States,” he lied.
"Why Roland Hawkins?" MacFarland waved it away.
"It's not just Hawkins, it's everybody with access to large sums of cash. Especially when it moves around the world."
"Hold off running any more searches until after this investigation is over." It was half order, half request.
"I have no problem with that,” he said in agreement. He only took direct orders from the President, but for the sake of argument, he agreed, at least for the moment.
"I'd like to find out who told you,” he said.
"Honestly, I don't know. I found a memo on my desk this morning informing me of your search."
"That's a pity. Someone broke into my computer files last night looking for something, and I'd like to find out who."
"Damn it! I gave strict orders that that was to stop. It's bad enough we spy on the rest of the world, without us spying on each other."
"That's the name of the game in this building, isn't it?" he said with a chuckle.
"I'm glad you find it funny, I don't." The Director said, shaking his head. "Besides that, if this person also informs the Senate sub-committee about your activities, I don't know how I can protect you."
"No to worry. I've survived four Directors, and three Presidents. If they ask me what I do, I'll tell them. I'm the Director of the CIA internal accounting department, which I am. Anything else is pure conjecture."
"You'd lie to the committee?"
"In a heartbeat. What my department does is too important to let a bunch of politicians screw around with it." He meant every word he said. "This country has got to know of any impending terrorist activity, especially any planned attack on this county before it happens this time. I for one do not want another 9/11!"
"I see your point. Thank you for your time, I appreciate it." With that, the meeting ended. It still left the question of who had tried to break into his computer. He’d find out in the end, and when he did, he’d have all the pieces of the puzzle.
The body count in 'Peregrine Creek' was still rising. The Sheriff had reported five. Pete Rogers was betting twice or three times that number by now. The Director of ‘Section Ten' hoped the Sheriff had a lot of body bags available. He was going to need them. That Roland Hawkins had brought in some professional help was obvious. His informant on site recognizing at least three of the dead bodies as mercenaries, guns for hire. The problem was, Roland Hawkins had no idea what he was up against. He'd brought in what he thought was the best available. But compared to Mike, they we
re barely above amateur status in this game, and had paid the price. Now it was a race to see who could kill who first. The Director knew that Mike would kill Roland Hawkins the first chance he got. His survival instinct would dictate that. With Hawkins alive, he would never be able to sleep in peace, and would be running for the rest of his life. At this moment, Mike Grainger, the ‘Comanchero’, was like a juggernaut out of control. There was nothing on earth that could stop him except death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
Bonner slowly lowered himself to the bottom of the rope, sweat standing out on his upper lip and forehead. It wasn't from exertion, but fear, something he hadn't felt for a long time. The longer they chased Mike Grainger the stronger his fear became. He'd already received a report that this cave system ran in two directions. One down into the mountain, the other right back up to the house, but as instructed no one had tried to enter. The fear it might be booby-trapped was strong enough to keep the most fool hardy from poking their noses where it didn't belong. The chances that Grainger and the girl had gone back to the house were extremely small, plus pointless. That was what was making him sweat. Why had he exposed yourself to gunfire to get to this opening, when he could have gone down to it from the house? But if they hadn't, and in fact had gone deeper into the mine, it told him three things. One, that Grainger wanted him to follow, two he knew his way around down here, and three it was him that was hunting them, not the other way round. His feet touched the floor of the cave, and in the dimmed out flashlights he saw his men scattered about the tunnel, watching both ways. 'This could get shitty in a hurry', was his first thought. His second. 'That son of a bitch has got us boxed'
"Any of you find any indication of which way he went?"
"Beats the shit out of me. Take your pick."
"Any indication up that way?" He asked, pointing up the tunnel.
"Manny said there's nothing to indicate they went back up to the house or in that direction. There's also a bloody great steel door that you'd need a torch or plastic to get through." Bonner didn't like it, not one damn bit. This fucker was setting them up. He could feel it. Which way, damn it?! Which way?!
"Spread out and work your way down the tunnel, and for Christ sake watch out, this fucker could be anywhere." No sooner had he said it when an ear-ringing explosion came back up the tunnel towards them, followed by a scream.
Everybody hit the floor as smoke and fumes rolled over them and up the vent hole. It took ten minutes before anyone could hear properly and then it was the screams of the poor bastard that had got hit. Cautiously, he wormed his way down the tunnel until he rounded the next bend and found the victim. The man's foot and lower leg were dog's meat, blood pumping slowly from a severed artery.
"Shit!" Bonner yelled. "Get a fucking pressure bandage round his leg and get him back up the tunnel!" Bonner wasn't the only one sweating now.
"What the hell did he run into?" Someone whispered in the darkness!" Bonner crawled forward. He and two other man un-shaded their lights, scanning the floor of the tunnel quickly, before shading them again.
"Son of a bitch! What the hell are those?" Bonner rolled on to his back and looked at the ceiling.
"Sweet Jesus! You rotten bastard, you creeping sack of shit, you... you.." For a moment, he was at a loss for words. "You’re one smart cocksucker!" He knew Grainger now had him between the rock and the hard place. If he or his men unshaded their lights to see the antipersonnel disks, they risked getting their heads blown off. If they shaded their lights, they risked getting their legs blown off. Without 'Starlight' or infrared it would be suicide to carry on.
"Bonner! You know what the hell those disks are?" At first he nodded, then realized that no one could see him.
"Hell yes. It's a nasty little device the 'Company' cooked up during 'Nam'. The red ones will blow your foot or leg off. The green will knock you on your ass, and the yellow one are full of 'CS' gas."
"Shit! These fuckers are all red."
"You've got it Charley Brown. Any volunteers to explore the tunnel?" Dead silence greeted his remark.
"So now what do we do?" It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.
"You guys wait here. I'm going up top and rustle up some 'Starlight' goggles." He didn't have to emphasize the order to stay put. No one in their right mind was going to go wandering down that tunnel. This was going to give Grainger about two or three hours lead.
"Damn the man." Was all Bonner could think to say.
* * * * * *
Mike set a fast pace, forcing Kat to trot to stay ahead, placing 'Hockey pucks' at strategic places in the tunnel. He used them sparingly, knowing he might need them later as a last ditch defense. Even if Bonner and his men didn't step on any, finding just one would slow them down to a crawl. It was the same philosophy as booby traps. A single strand of wire hooked between two trees will force the enemy to assume there were real traps waiting for them. Valuable time would be lost in a fruitless search. Or prevent him using the area at all if time, trained personal, or equipment wasn't available. He caught up with Kat as she stepped down into the cavern, delighted at the beauty of the place. Then she noted the plumbing and he could see a moue of disapproval on her face.
"Don't blame me, your father, or another owner put that in to provide hot water for the shower you took." He saw her jump, realizing she'd not heard him come up behind her.
"Don't do that!" She snapped. You scared the life out of me.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to." He suddenly realized the profound effect she was having on him. That was the first time in many years he'd apologized to anyone for anything.
"That okay Mike. Didn't mean to snap." Like a soothing balm, her smile took the sting out of her words. In answer, she received a quick squeeze on her arm. "Which way, Oh mighty leader?"
"Don't be a smart ass. Just follow me and watch out for overhangs." In truth, Mike didn't know which way to go as he'd only explored part of the cave system beyond this.
Trusting to his instinct and boyhood caving experience he started downward, trying first one tunnel then another. He didn't want to try the main one. Boiling water from the hot spring ran down that, but each of the other tunnels came to a dead end. At last he gave up trying, knowing the only way down and out was to follow the stream from the underground hot springs. He avoided it in his explorations, knowing it was going to be hot and muddy beyond belief. It was, yet Kat said nothing. Not once. With all their doubling back and forth, she plodded steadily behind, following his lead.
Splashing along the streambed, they slipped and slid their way along the steadily sloped tunnel that became smaller and smaller as they went. Inevitably, they ended up on their bellies crawling along through slimy mud, and trying not to breathe the sulfur fumes. Mike just hoped it didn't end in a sudden down drop or steep slope. If it did, there was no way they could stop themselves hurtling down it to an unknown destination. He breathed a sigh of relief when the tunnel opened up again into another cavern. This one was smaller than the first one, the stream now falling into a small, shallow lake.
"Stay here for a moment and wash some of that crap off yourself, but watch that opening for any signs of light or movement." He saw her nod, or something man-like that nodded, as she was covered from head to foot in the soft clinging mud and it was impossible to tell who she was.
"You know what?" he observed offhand as he strolled by. "Women pay thousands of dollars to get what you have just had for free. Isn't life wonderful?" He walked on chuckling, hearing a distinct. "Fuck you, and the slimy rock you crawled out from under." The soft gleam of white teeth in the mudpack told him she was laughing as well. He was betting he looked the same to her.
Twenty minutes later, he traversed the circumference of the cavern, finding only three outlets. One was where the water now ran out of. Another where it had run out in the past, or when the water level was high. When that was, he had no way of knowing. Did the hot spring spew out larger amounts of water at a certain time or did rain
in the hills find its way down here? He didn't know, but either way it wasn't a pleasant thought. He decided not to mention that possibility as he arrived back, knowing that with the winter storm moving in, it must raining cats and dogs up top by now.
"I think I've found a way down. But there's no telling where it leads. Or for how long."
"You going to take a bath?" Was all she said?
"Might as well." Dropping his gear, he walked into the water and scrubbed himself off. He then stripped the magazine and the chambered round out of the weapon before locking the action open and working each weapon back and forth in the warm water. It would have to do for now as they didn't have time to strip and clean them.
He did spray a liberal amount of Teflon lubricant into the actions and then ran a string ‘pull-through’, through the barrels, before reloading them with fresh magazines. Jacking a round into the breach and flipping the safety on, he handed the mini Uzi back to her. While preparing each weapon, he thought about leaving a few more 'Hockey pucks' behind. At last decided against it. If they didn't find them, he'd have to come back later to retrieve them. If, there was a later. He didn't want some unlucky cave explorer stepping on one. Or have them wash down into the lower cave system and explode. There was no telling what sort of damage they might do.
"Ready?" he asked.
"When you are."
"Let’s go then."
They walked for half a mile through tunnels of varying dimensions, in some places having to crawl. The downward sloping tunnel occasionally opened up into small caverns, some festooned with stalagmites and stalactites, the walls covered in limestone formations of weird and beautiful shapes. Neither of them had time to stop and appreciate them, moving through as quickly as possible. At one point, they entered a cave where the outlet was underwater, forcing them to back track and try another avenue. Doubling back for the fourth time, they took another route that ended in a crawl-way. It was tight, but passable and, in places possible only for them to crawl on their stomachs side by side. Just in time, Mike killed the pin light as he saw a powerful beam of light come up through a crack in the floor. Kat instinctively knew something was wrong when Mike stopped, lying still until he motioned her up beside him. The 'starlight' goggles almost blinded her as she caught part of the beam. Pushing them up, she blinked, clearing the tears out of her eyes. As quietly as possible, she moved up beside Mike, his finger to lips un-needed. Through the narrow crack in the floor, she saw a string of light slowly pass below her, as Bonner and his team walked right under them. At one point, someone shone a light upwards, examining the crack, but as there was nothing to see he didn't bother examining it closer. There would have been no way to get far enough back quick enough not to be seen. Mike counted fifteen lights, but it wasn't much help as he had no way of knowing how many Bonner started out with. As the last man passed, Mike opened his bag and handed Kat a small box. Using signs, he indicated she should open it and place the contents in her ears. She did, discovering they were earplugs. Placing them in her ears, she crawled on down the tunnel, as Mike motioned her to do, suspecting a loud noise was about to happen. Mike pulled a tube out of his bag and, gripping the wooden handle, ripped the sealing tape off the end and striking the exposed fuse on the rock. The moment he dropped it through the crack he scuttled down the tunnel after Kat, catching up with her fifty feet on.
