“What’s that?” asked Doug.
“It used to be Wal-Mart and Home Depot,” said Boone. “13 goes right between them.”
Carson said, “I’m not liking this. It looks like it’s all fenced in.” He studied his GPS screen. “We can turn east and go around it.”
“No,” replied Boone. “I don’t care what that GPS shows, it’s wrong. I know this area. That way just takes you into a maze of back roads, but there’s no way around. Driving back there would just draw attention to us, and we’d wind up in a dead end anyway. We have to go past the Wal-Mart. Lieutenant, what’s going on up there?”
Malverde seemed surprised to be asked a question, and gave a “Who me?” look before responding. “That? It’s a relocation center. Part of the the Recovery and Reconstruction Administration. It’s no problem, we can just drive through. The road in between is open for normal traffic.”
Carson said, “I don’t like this, not one little bit. What if he’s lying? We’ll be driving right into a controlled-access area. Look, it’s all fenced, all the way around.”
“Hey, if he’s lying, he’s dying,” said Boone. “Right, Lieutenant?”
Their driver said nothing, his lips tightly pursed as he stared straight ahead.
The fugitives approached the last public road intersection before the acres of parking lots. The two-lane state road widened to four lanes between the big-box stores. Home Depot was on their left, Wal-Mart on the right. Their corporate signs had been taken down, but there was no mistaking the origins of the giant buildings. The entire perimeters of the Home Depot and Wal-Mart properties were fenced in multiple layers of chain link, with angled razor wire strands on top. The chain link and barbed wire extended right up to the curbs on both sides of State Road 13, leaving just an enclosed corridor in between for the passage of through traffic. A tan humvee bearing the three black stars of the North American Legion was parked on the opposite side of the intersection. Atop its roof was a 7.62mm M-240 medium machine gun on a conventional ring-and-pintle mount, but nobody was visible in or around the vehicle.
In the parking lot of the Wal-Mart, over a hundred big general-purpose Army tents had been set up, similar to the ones Carson had slept in back at Camp Shelton in Mississippi. These GP-Large tents could fit more than twenty cots each. The tents had been arranged with military precision in ranks and files. On the Home Depot side were dozens of gray FEMA house trailers in neatly ordered rows, and more green and tan Army tents.
Their humvee had to stop and wait while a vehicle gate on the Home Depot side to their left was swung open by a pair of soldiers in camouflage uniforms. A convoy of a dozen canvas-covered military trucks exited the Home Depot parking lot, turned north in front of the humvee, and then turned right and passed through another gate on the Wal-Mart side. After the last of the big trucks turned onto State Road 13, the two guards with rifles slung on their shoulders closed the gate behind them. These guards wore black berets, but it was not possible to determine if they were Americans or foreign.
Boone asked Malverde, “What’s that all about?”
The lieutenant answered, “They’re probably picking up a work detail. For reconstruction projects. Roads, bridges, you name it. That’s what this camp is for, housing the workers. FEMA runs the camp for the Recovery and Reconstruction Administration.”
Carson looked out his right side window, beyond the two chain link fences toward the Wal-Mart building. The parallel fences were spaced about ten feet apart, enough room for a vehicle, guards patrolling on foot, or police dogs. A line of hundreds of civilians, all men, queued up on the other side of the second fence. Hands were thrust in coat pockets as they shuffled along. It was cold enough outside to see their breath, even though the sky was mostly clear with just a few high wisps of cloud. Some of the men looked away or at the ground, others chatted, but many stared at the North American Legion humvee with undisguised contempt. A few spat toward them or gave the middle finger. There was no mistaking the two words forming on their lips when they gave the finger gesture.
The humvee pulled forward when the road ahead was clear of the truck convoy. Carson watched the front of the line of civilian men entering an enormous white tent, big enough for a large wedding or a small circus. On the other side of the white tent from the queue, men stood outside in small groups, eating with spoons from silver mess trays.
The main entrance road running from State Road 13 into the Wal-Mart complex was also fenced on both sides. An enormous chain link gate closed this entrance off from 13, and was shut behind the last of the Army trucks. On the other side of the entrance road that bisected the thirty-acre Wal-Mart parking lot, Carson saw another line of civilians and another huge white tent, but all of the people on this side were women, along with children of both sexes. The new line of people waiting to be fed extended for hundreds of yards beyond this second white tent, running parallel to the double row of fences along State Road 13.
Boone said, “This FEMA camp wasn’t here the last time I was on this side of the river. It was just a regular Wal-Mart and a Home Depot. Of course, they were out of business then. They never reopened after the earthquakes. They were looted down to the floors, and abandoned.”
“So that’s what a FEMA relocation camp looks like,” said Doug.
“Doesn’t look like a lot of fun in there,” said Boone. “Not anyplace I’d want to live.”
From behind the wheel, Lieutenant Malverde ventured a quiet comment. “It’s better than starving, and freezing in the rain and snow. The old people and the mothers with little children and babies get to stay in the buildings. It’s dry and warm in there. Only the able-bodied adults and big kids stay in the tents.”
Boone said, “You seem to know a lot about the place, LT. What else can you tell us?”
After a hesitation Malverde said, “Who else is going to rebuild Tennessee?”
Carson said, “Did you notice something odd about the people lined up to get into the mess tents?”
“What, you mean it was all men on one side of the camp, and women on the other?” asked Doug.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant. Look, it’s all whites in there. Caucasians. I didn’t see a single black face.”
“There’s not so many blacks that live around here,” said Boone. “But I’ll admit, that seems strange. Maybe there’s a different camp for blacks.”
“Or maybe they’re only putting whites into these camps,” observed Doug. “Or at least, into this camp.”
“Hey,” said Boone, “I just figured out why the men are all on one side and the women are on the other. Besides making it easier to manage them, I mean. They have to send the men out on work projects, right? Well, they won’t run away if they know their families are still back in the other part of the camp. Those FEMA bastards use the men’s families as hostages, to keep them from escaping.”
“It sounds like slavery,” said Doug. “Or a concentration camp. The British did something like that in the Boer War. The Boers were fighting a guerrilla war. The English invented modern concentration camps to break the Boer resistance. They grabbed all the Boers’ families, their women and children, and stuck them behind barbed wire in concentration camps until their men quit. And it worked.”
Lieutenant Malverde offered no further observation on this topic, nor was he asked again, because they were fast approaching the next guard position.
There was another NAL humvee with a pintle-mounted medium machine gun on its roof, parked where State Road 13 left the far end of the vast FEMA center. This was where the chain link fences and barbed wire marking the perimeter of the complex ended. A pair of oversized stop signs flanked the last stretch. There was another set of tower stands for arc lights, but it was daylight now and the lights were not turned on. Two NAL soldiers in camouflage parkas and blue berets leaned against the front of the humvee, smoking cigarettes and talking, probably waiting for their reliefs to show up. They appeared not even to notice the passage of the “frien
dly” Legion humvee.
Once they were beyond the final guard post, Lieutenant Malverde said, “Okay, I kept my part of the deal. You’re going to let me out like you said, right?” He turned slightly to address Phil Carson.
“Soon, lieutenant, soon,” said Boone from behind Malverde. “Just have patience. We’re not in a safe place yet. But soon.”
Each of the men in the humvee shared the same unspoken question. Would they really let the Legion officer go, as Carson had promised…or kill him? It was an age-old problem for guerrilla fighters: what to do with prisoners taken on a mission behind enemy lines. Not one man in the vehicle could have said with any degree of certainty what the outcome of Lieutenant Malverde’s request would be. There was much more certainty about their own fates should they be captured while wearing Legion uniforms.
They would be hanged as spies and terrorists. Of that, there was no question at all.
23
Large maps, aerial photos and charts lined the walls of the first-floor conference room in Building 1405. A giant flat-screen television was mounted above the far end of the long mahogany conference table. Director Bullard dropped into the leather executive chair at the head of the table and was immediately handed an enormous mug of black coffee. He was wearing his usual khaki Eisenhower jacket and matching pants. A platter of his favorite Danishes was discreetly placed next to him on a folding TV tray, just below the table level.
“All right, people, get me up to speed.”
His communications assistant said, “We have Colonel Burgut of the Kazak Battalion on the video conference link standing by. Should I put him on, or keep him holding?”
“Oh, put him on. Might as well get the bad news right from the horse’s mouth.” A tiny video camera was already on the table in front of Bullard, aimed at him. Colonel Burgut’s face appeared on the TV screen at the other end of the long table. All of Bullard’s department heads, deputies and assistants turned toward the screen. Colonel Burgut appeared both haggard and angry, his thick black hair combed back. He was unshaven, which was typical for the Kazaks, but then, Bullard hadn’t shaved either. Unlike Bullard, Colonel Burgut had the thick moustache so common among the Kazaks.
“Okay, Colonel, I’m here. Tell me what’s going on with the Nigerians.”
“Good morning, General Blair. Or maybe, not good. Problem with Nigerians was result of small mistake, that become very big mistake. Last night, two Kazak armored scout vehicles were attack in County Radford, east from Mannville. One ASV stealed by terrorists. Six Kazak peacekeepers having been murdered in situation. Ten more Kazak peacekeepers having been murdered short time later, when stolen ASV ambush Kazak platoon on truck.” Burgut sighed, ran both hands back from his face and over his head, and took a deep breath. “Stolen ASV scout vehicle was discovered in pursuit, and other Kazak armored vehicles making effort trying to stop. Stolen vehicle crossed to Nigerian territory of County Lexington. After, situation not clear. Nigerians fired on Kazaks, according to radio messages received. I was in command vehicle, remaining in County Radford. General Blair, all was simple case of hot pursuit, all being in accord from International Peacekeeping Forces Agreement. One Kazak ASV on hot-pursuit mission was destroy, and crew murdered by Nigerians. One Kazak ASV returning to County Radford, crew okay.”
“So what happened to the stolen ASV that you were pursuing?”
Burgut’s expression of cold rage appeared partly dulled by deep fatigue. He spoke very slowly, with long pauses between each phrase, obviously struggling to find the English words to express his thoughts. “Status of stolen ASV not being known at this time. Kazak requesting for aerial reconnaissance having been denied, as you very well are knowing already, General. Is impossible for Kazaks to know where is stolen ASV today. Stolen Kazak ASV in Nigerian county of Lexington. Perhaps better to ask Nigerians where is stolen ASV. General Blair, two Kazak peacekeepers are being dead today because of denied helicopter medical evacuation, even before incident of stolen ASV. Three Kazaks having been killed from terrorist bomb south of Mannville yesterday, 1700 hours when sun dropping. Two Kazaks injured in terrorist explosion has now being dead, because of denied helicopter medical evacuation. I am thinking that you are understanding much of situation already.”
Bullard ignored the charge contained in the Kazak’s last comment. “We’ll be sending Predators up for reconnaissance ASAP. As soon as possible, since the weather is clear. And I’ll see about helicopter medevac flights if you still need them. The weather is better for flying today.”
“Good. We are needing still casualty evacuation for eight or seven woundeds. I will make radio call to air operations after video conference. General Blair, I must also inform that Nigerian forces are moving to north side of Butler Creek. This small river being border to County Radford. Nigerian forces are taking very aggressive posture, including Nigerian snipers with harassment shots firing. I believe it very important that Nigerian forces redeploy north, away from border of County Radford, to avoid very big problem of great danger to both forces.”
“Thank you, Colonel. We’ll be in touch later this morning. Call air operations about a medevac helicopter. I’m sure you’ll get one.” Off camera Bullard made a dismissive hand gesture, and the flat screen went blank.
A reconnaissance and surveillance technician spoke next. “Sir, we may have an idea about what happened to the stolen Kazak ASV. We already have a Predator over Lexington County. I just came from flight ops, and I copied the pertinent video.”
“Well, put it up.”
The tech was seated at the table with a laptop in front of him. He made a few clicks, and aerial video appeared on the big screen. The aide used a pen-sized laser to pick out his references, tracing and circling them with the bright red dot on the giant TV screen. “You see this S-shaped line across here? This is Butler Creek. Below it is Radford County; above it is Lexington. You can see where the Nigerians are moving troops and vehicles to positions all along the north bank of Butler Creek, here, here and here. Now, look up north about a mile. See this group of vehicles?” He circled the area with his red laser. “Right here, right here is what we think is the missing ASV. Or was. We’re sending people down, but we probably won’t get anything out of it. If it’s the missing ASV, it’s been blown up and burned. It’s totaled.”
Bullard slurped his hot coffee, and then said, “You mean, we’ve got nothing on who caused this whole mess?”
“Umm, not quite nothing. Actually, it seems that we did record an unusual snippet of digital audio last night. We just found it, after searching through the pertinent audio archives. This was on the Kazak tactical network. Let me cue it up. Here, give a listen.”
“No, nothing, I’m just hearing radio chatter. It’s not in English.”
Bullard asked, “What the hell does that mean?”
“We’re analyzing it now. It appears as if it might have been transmitted from the stolen Kazak ASV by mistake. I’m told the voice belongs to a male in his twenties or thirties. His accent places him from the area between Washington, D.C., and Philadelphia, so clearly he’s not a local insurgent.”
“Well, plug it into Omnivore, and let’s see if we get any hits on it. The voice might already be in a database.”
“Already done, sir. Now, back to the stolen ASV, which we think is this black thing here. It basically melted, what didn’t burn. You can see the scorched ring around it, where all the snow is gone. The Nigerians are saying that the commanding officer of their 2nd Battalion was murdered right there, just a few yards away. That’s his official residence, right there by what we think is the burned ASV. The Nigerians are saying that this colonel and his personal detachment were murdered there, by Caucasian soldiers in this ASV. Americans or Kazaks, the witnesses couldn’t say for sure. The Nigerian 2nd Battalion CO’s personal vehicle was apparently driven away from this point. A black Dodge Ram pickup truck. Now, this is where it really gets interesting. This is very recent, this just happened.”
The t
ech clicked his remote control, and the video images on the big screen were replaced by a detailed map of western Tennessee. “Over in the town of Carrolton, that’s right here, we just found the Nigerian vehicle. It’s a pickup truck with Nigerian Peacekeeping Forces markings, a black Dodge Ram. It was hidden inside an abandoned building. Less than two miles from the pickup, three North American Legion soldiers were just found murdered in a gas station. These reports are still coming in, so there’s some confusion about who’s who and what’s what, but their proximity seems to rule out a coincidence. Either two or three are dead there. A Legion humvee is missing; apparently, it was taken when the soldiers were murdered in the garage. And that’s all we have at this point.”
Bob Bullard selected an apple Danish, and studied the map. His eyes traced the meandering south-to-north course of the Tennessee River, from the state of Mississippi up into Kentucky. While chewing on the pastry, he found Radford County down near the bottom of the state, on the west side of the river. His eyes searched for and found the black dot representing the insignificant town of Mannville, near the scene of Saturday’s rampage by the Kazak Battalion. Colonel Burgut had just said that terrorists killed several of his men with a bomb down around Mannville, one day after the massacre. Then one of his ASVs was stolen in the same general area, and more Kazak soldiers had been killed. Next, the Kazaks crossed from Radford into Lexington County in hot pursuit of their stolen ASV, precipitating a blue-on-blue firefight with the Nigerians. And from that point, a Nigerian pickup truck was taken, a truck which was just discovered in Carrolton, right by the only bridge in that region across the river to Middle Tennessee.
Foreign Enemies and Traitors Page 57
