by Krakondack
“I still have a bad feeling about that whole series of events, Frank. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s fishy.”
They reached the outskirts of Philadelphia and John stopped at a gas station, went inside and borrowed the telephone. He came back out after about 10 minutes and said, “We’re in business!” They drove to a garage in an industrial area and parked the vehicle inside. A short stocky man soon drove up in an old Ford Taurus, got out and shook John’s hand with a Cheshire grin on his face. He spoke with a thick accent. “I take care of it this car. Doesn’t exist no more. I give you very excellent car you pay me later.” The man pointed to his rusty 1998 Ford Taurus with 120,000 miles on the odometer.
John laughed. “Get real, Vasek, I’m doing you the favor here. Is that piece of shit even going to get us to Washington?”
Vasek lost his grin momentarily but recovered it just as quickly. “I fix it myself, engine is very excellent. Transmission maybe not so much,” he said as he rocked the open top of his hand back and forth. “But it work for you fine. Just this time I let you have it for nothing.”
John felt he had no choice at this point, so he took the keys to the Taurus and started it. Sure enough, the engine ran smoothly and the transmission, while a little jerky, would probably be up to the task. They got in and drove off, noting that even the tires seemed reasonably well balanced. “What’s he going to do with the Toyota?” asked Frank.
“That’s an abandoned garage, so tracing the car there will be fruitless. He’ll strip off any tracking devices and hand it off to some acquaintances of his. They’ll likely take it to the port. From there, it might go onto a cargo ship, and off to someplace in Africa or the East. And it’s possible it will all be overseen by Nightwatch.” They both smiled at the irony.
Chapter 53: Logistical Review
“Give me a list of heavy armaments that you’ve distributed to each unit,” said Derek Ellis, sitting in his conference room with his planning team.
Mike Thompson plugged his laptop into the projector and brought up a map of the country, showing Ellis the location of each of his Morningstar Security units together with a list of their armaments and targets. They reviewed each location against a list of known defenses at each target site, to ensure that they could bring overwhelming force at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, Ellis made extensive modifications to the plans as they went along, in some cases pointing out the existence of a secondary target unknown to the others.
Rennson’s phone rang while they were reviewing the data, and after a few words he interrupted. “Derek, you may want to take this call yourself.”
Ellis took Rennson’s phone and spoke to the man at the other end. “How did they escape?”
“I see. No, that’s fine. Just take care of your injuries.”
“It’s nothing,” said Ellis to the group. “This review is far more important right now.”
After concluding the logistical review, Ellis had lunch brought in to the conference room. As Ellis and Rennson sat side by side, an observer could not help but think they were brothers separated by about 10 years of age. Rennson had meticulously imitated Ellis’ hairstyle and grooming habits, though not his perfume. Ellis made it plain to anyone who crossed this line that there would be no olfactory competition among the senior staff.
“So how did you end up in this line of work, Mr. Ellis?” asked Thompson in an attempt to make small talk.
“I’ve been a covert operative since I left the Marines. I was recruited while still serving, actually. Then came the first Gulf War and they realized that certain things that needed doing weren’t getting done, if you get my drift. That’s when the first private contractors formed, because they had no choice but to farm out the work they couldn’t do themselves. I was one of five founders of a short-lived outfit. The SEC started to bug us about information we had on some oil deal, and we managed to get them to drop the issue but we had to agree to break up the management group. I started Morningstar right after that, and evidently I was the only one of that original group determined enough to run my own private contracting firm. I’ve been at this since, adding you folks along the way.”
Rennson quickly added, “If not for Derek, the United States would probably have lost both Gulf Wars. Yet they never appreciated him for what he was. That’s about to change, isn’t it Derek?”
“Only if you guys get everything planned to the last degree, and that promiscuous idiot Kim doesn’t tell one of his mistresses everything, and she doesn’t turn out to be a government operative. There’s so much that can go wrong here, comrades. Unless you nail down every detail, everything could fall apart. That’s why I need to know every detail. Nobody but me knows which ones matter and which ones don’t.”
The main phone in the conference room rang, and Ellis brought up the call on the video screen. General Kim appeared on the screen, looking down and away from the camera. “What’s gone wrong, General Kim?” asked Ellis.
“Mr. Ellis, the Border Patrol Agent we had detained escaped. We’ve sent out helicopters and some ground search teams, but have not been able to find him. I take full responsibility for this lapse.”
“General, I gave you instructions to eventually turn him loose, knowing there was a risk he would survive and escape. If I thought the risk was acute, I would have told you to execute him on the spot. So forget about him right now, and focus on your mission. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mr. Ellis. We are on schedule and will not slip.”
“Good. Keep me informed of any other developments, as always.” Ellis disconnected and shook his head. “That stupid idiot!”
“Is this a problem?” asked Rennson.
“Yeah, it could be. Get me Colonel March on the phone.”
Chapter 54: Annapolis
As they crossed the Susquehanna River on their way to DC, John said pensively, “I don’t have a family that will miss me if I don’t come through this. How about you, Frank? What’s the collateral risk here for you?”
“My wife and I split years ago,” said Frank. “She’d probably celebrate if I were killed. I also have a grown son. He’s in graduate studies at the University of Chicago. I think he’d miss me, but I don’t really see him that much. He’s developed his own life, so I think he’d get over it quickly enough. But I will say this. I hope he could handle it as well as Jessica Linssman.”
“I never remarried after my wife died,” said John. “I have a girlfriend, but it never got that serious. So I’ve essentially been alone for a long time. But even so, there’s no way I would have done this 10 years ago.”
“I think we’re programmed to be that way, because most people at that age have kids they’re supporting. Once we’re old enough that any kids can look after themselves, I think we get more comfortable taking risks. I was leery at first too, which is why I asked for your help. Then after they came after me in my own house, I guess I realized I’m not safe staying out of it, so I might as well be in the thick of things.”
“I understand,” said John.
“But you had a change of heart too back there at the warehouse. Ellis’ perfume made you change your mind. You want to explain that one?”
“Ellis’ perfume is so intense, it lingers a while anywhere he’s been,” said John. “I smelled traces of it in Robbie’s cottage when he was killed. I couldn’t place it at the time because it was faint. But when I smelled it in person, I remembered. Many years ago now, right around the time my wife and daughter died in a car crash that I’ve always suspected was rigged, I was held up by a gunman in an alley. It was a hot summer night and the gunman wore a short sleeved shirt, showing his double dagger tattoo. It meant nothing to me then. The thing is, he never asked for money or anything. He just held me at gunpoint long enough for a man standing in the shadows to tell me to back off an investigation I was pushing. Not just any man, a very smelly man. One who used way too much perfume.”
“So do you think Ellis was responsible for their deaths?” asked
Frank.
“Yes. In my heart I believe he was, though I’d never be able to prove it after all this time. I can’t get them back, but I can fight Ellis, knowing that good will come from it.”
There was quiet for a time, and then as they approached Baltimore, Frank remembered there was a Tilbury operated port just off the highway before the harbor tunnel. John turned off the highway and they slowly drove by the port. To nobody’s surprise, they saw a place sparse on the regular container traffic but crawling with green shirts. Both felt vindicated to see the same thing in effect at a second port. They quickly got back on the highway and continued their trip.
“So far, we’ve avoided being murdered, uncovered a plot to invade the United States, and escaped a slow death by torture. Now comes the hard part,” said Frank.
“What do you mean?” asked John.
“Unless you think we can just walk into the Pentagon or the White House, speak with the Defense Secretary or President, and persuade them to drop everything and start a war with China, then we haven’t made the first bit of progress,” replied Frank. “We’re driving an old jalopy that probably has a questionable history, we have Morningstar Security on our asses, and the FBI is looking for us. We have no IDs, we can’t access our credit cards or bank accounts, and only have a little cash from our friend Tucker.”
John laughed briefly, but Frank continued. “We have no idea what parts of the government are closely tied to Morningstar, and which parts they’ve alienated. In-fighting is an art-form in government and you can always make progress working with the enemies of your enemy. That is if you know which is which.”
“You’re on to something, Frank. In every case that we’ve observed, the military is an afterthought, essentially treated as irrelevant. At best it’s shipped off overseas to be out of the way. Meanwhile the intelligence community is riddled with traitors.”
“That’s their weakness,” agreed Frank. “They’ve maneuvered the military into irrelevance as a fighting force, but they’ve neglected it as a political force. John, our destination is not DC, at least not yet. We’re going to stop in Annapolis.”
…
John and Frank took I-97 south to Annapolis, exited at the John Hanson highway, and made their way to Winchester Road and the Cool Spring Creek area. They stopped at a house that was just off the water, and while it was in a beautiful location, it was small enough not to imply that the owner was involved in anything suspiciously lucrative. The slightly short older man slowly opened the door. “Hi Stan, I’m sorry to bother you unannounced like this but we’re in urgent need of your help.
The man motioned for them to come in and said “you look like hell, Frank. Whatever it is must be serious.”
Admiral Stanley T. Howe had been retired more than a decade. He had served as a consultant for Tilbury for roughly the first half of that decade of retirement but had since been replaced by fresher retirees with greater influence in the military. Frank was confident that Howe had been out of the loop since long before Tilbury became tied up with these events.
“This is John Corson. He saved my life.” They told their stories to Howe, inclusive of their recent run-ins with Morningstar, and their assessment of the plot. Howe listened intently, but they feared he could think they’d lost their marbles.
After an interminable silence as they waited for his reaction, Howe replied, “I wrote a paper a long time ago on the possibility that America’s addiction to imports could make us vulnerable to an invasion like this. But it was ignored because there was at the time no single trading partner that could alone pose such a threat. We were worried about the Soviets, and nothing else was nearly as important. In the time of the Cold War, there was no significant trade between the Soviet block and the West. Our troops were also more concentrated at home back then. Today, the pretense of defense is utterly gone, so much so that they had to create a ‘Homeland Security’ Department. Everything has changed completely, and we’re dead vulnerable. What you’ve discovered amounts to my worst nightmare.”
“Can you help us, then?” asked Frank. “Ideally, we’d like to get into the White House.”
“We’ll have to be very careful even going through military channels. There’s a very thick web of corruption that weaves through Morningstar, intelligence, arms production, the foreign policy establishment, and a lot of our General Officers. And we’ll have to have some corroborating evidence if we’re to be taken seriously. It can’t just be your words seeming to vindicate my old ideas.”
“Admiral please don’t take this as an affront, but may I see your forearms?” asked John.
Frank quickly added, “Morningstar guys have specific tattoos and John’s had some close calls with them.” Howe rolled up his sleeves and showed John his arms, which were both clean.
“You guys go upstairs and shower up. I’ll get some Chinese takeout for dinner,” said Howe.
Chapter 55: Returning Home
Cam Burrows spent the day hiding in a gully overgrown with bushes. It was hot, and he had no water. He watched the helicopters flying overhead, and heard the patrol trucks passing by. He dared not venture out for fear of being captured again, or killed outright. Over the course of the day, he noticed that large numbers of birds were flying to and from a location just to the southeast of where he was. There may be water there, he thought. He was thirsty, and was still a good ten miles from the Rio Grande to the east. He set off again at twilight, heading southeast. Within an hour he came to a lake that irrigated farmland in the area. Lake Centenario most likely, he said. The water would be fresh, but loaded with fertilizer runoff and probably a witch’s cauldron of nasty bacteria. Still, what choice did he have? He did not know how much further he could go without water. If he made it back to Texas, he liked his chances of survival after that, even if he was sick. He waded into the lake as deep as he could, and drank deeply. The taste was not as foul as he had feared. Still, that was no guarantee he would not feel it in a day or two.
Drinking as much as he could, Burrows waited a while until he could drink more, and filled himself a second time. Refreshed, he continued his hike to the east, still limping from his leg injury. He did not feel any digestive distress, but prayed that he could stave off any sickness until after he had crossed the border. He crossed a paved highway, and kept moving. He was relatively sure the major roads in this area went north-south, so he was heading in the right direction. As the night grew dark, he stumbled frequently. The sky had become overcast and the moon was not yet high enough to cast much light. Some time after midnight, the clouds lightened and the moon came out to ease his walk. He crossed another road, this time unpaved. As soon as he did, he saw plots of farmland in a contiguous grid in front of him. That must mean the Rio Grande is up ahead, he said.
Within a half hour he saw a dirt road heading in the general direction of east so he followed it, relieved of his fear of breaking an ankle with a bad step. The pain in his legs and back was killing him, but he was now so close that hope alone was enough to propel him forward. Finally, as he thought he saw the first hints of a glow in the eastern sky, the farmland came to an end and Burrows descended the bank of the Rio Grande. It was an easy crossing here, and it was extensively patrolled by his colleagues. He realized he was probably the only person crossing the river here who desperately wanted to be apprehended. He considered drinking again, but he was downstream of Acuña and Del Rio. He knew the sewage content in the water would be high. And he expected to be rescued soon in any event.
Back in America, Burrows walked up the bank to the first road he saw. It was deserted, but it was still early. The sun was only starting to rise in the sky. Where’s the Border Patrol when you need them? He kept walking, now heading northeast, to where he guessed Laughlin Air Force base would be. By about seven in the morning, he came to a fence bordering a major road. That must be Calderon, he thought. Laughlin can’t be far now.
Burrows followed the road a short distance, until he saw an exit for the south ent
rance to Laughlin AFB. Finally here. A half mile later he came to the entrance station to Laughlin, walked up to the gate in his ragged formerly white pajamas, and announced “I’m Cam Burrows of the US Border Patrol. I’ve been held prisoner in Mexico, and I need to see the commanding officer immediately.”
Chapter 56: Costa Rica
Jess had found a map in Luis’ boat and examined the route they were likely going to take, noting that Costa Rica was approximately 200 miles from the Pearl Islands. “Luis, do you have enough fuel for the trip?” she asked.
“Si senorita. No question about it,” replied Luis.
“And where do you want to dock?”
“Golfito Bay,” replied Luis. “It’s a sleepy place, mostly a fishing resort. I’ll stop at the Hotel Las Gaviotas. I have contacts there, and sometimes I do charters for the guests. Maybe I can pick up a fishing charter and have some cover until things quiet down.”
Lyle looked a little concerned at that. “Where would your own family look for you, Luis?”
“I have relatives in Panama but none in Costa Rica,” replied Luis. “What I do often takes me away for a few days at a time. When I get home safely, that’s enough. Nobody asks where I was.”
“Costa Rica could be good for us,” said Lyle. “It was never a strategically important country, and US involvement has generally been low since the fall of the Sandinistas. It’s as good a bet as any to stay under the radar.”
“But it’s not a whole lot closer to getting us back home where we can use the information we’ve gleaned,” said Jess.
“I once knew a guy who I’m pretty sure lives in Costa Rica,” said Lyle. “I think I could call on him for help.”
