State of Threat (State of Arizona Book 2)

by Doug Ball

  “You need anything else before we begin this little chat, Hawk?” the Governor asked as she opened a diet cola carefully to keep from breaking a nail.

  “Nothing, Governor, absolutely nothing needed. To be here discussing the future of Arizona with you is more than I ever dreamed I’d be doing at this young and tender age.”

  “Bovine Scat, my dear friend, there are a million streams you would rather be soaking your feet and a dry fly in, and you know it. How much longer are you going to play this game, Hawk?”

  “You know me too well, Lady Governor.” He took a sip of his water before looking at her again. In his mind the respect he had for this woman was just piling up on itself. He had known her for years, but only when she became Governor had her real abilities and charisma boiled over and he got to be involved at every level. Plus, his influence with her and for her was addictive to him. “What’s on your mind today after whupping up on those clowns that want to spend, spend, spend? Where did we politicians ever get the idea that it was all about spending every cent we can take from the taxpayers?”

  “Good question, Hawk. When and where did that idea pop up? It surely was not an idea of the Founding Fathers or their children. Somewhere along the line it became dominant and was never brought into check. I believe it is called the Progressive Movement and it should be called the Regressive Movement.” She sipped her drink and sat in the overstuffed chair opposite the Hawk.

  She continued, “We need to reteach that and stomp out the ‘we got it, let’s spend it’ crew.”

  “What’s on your mind, Governor?”

  “I was thinking on the reforms. We have dealt with the illegals situation quite well I think. Only seven were shipped back last week and that’s a record low. INS is screaming louder than ever for us to stop, but we remain mute. Can’t have an argument without a second voice, can they? Takes two to tangle and all that.

  “The school reforms are working. Schools report per student costs for books down over 50% and student achievement has increased already. The results of the no pass, no advancement provision are already showing in the classroom even though the first report cards are not yet out.”

  Hawk interrupted, “Maybe living up to the other reforms has shown that you mean business even to the kids in the classroom? And, could it be that keeping promises improves folk’s responses?

  “The courts report the same type of results. Cases are being adjudicated in less than 90 days instead of taking nine months or more. Removing mandatory sentencing is still needed. We need to let the judges be judges and not just parrots of some book in front of them. Any third grader could read the book to the defendant.”

  “Let’s do it. Can you get that out of the Legislature?”

  “Might be a fight. If we use the idea of rehabilitation of criminals through our prison reforms as a springboard, we might get it done. All those Liberals want is prison reform.”

  “Druggersville hasn’t added a citizen in a week. That’s good news. Seems like the word is going around that folks are being murdered and rape is running rampant inside the fence, when in fact no violence has occurred in the past three weeks and the number of citizens in that fair community is dropping rapidly as more and more choose rehab. Rehab is working. Illegal drug sources continue to dry up due mainly to the closed border and the opportunity to get a real job doing something meaningful and keep it, maybe even the very real thought of no income. There will always be the diehards, but for the most part its working.”

  Both of them sat quietly for a few moments until Josie knocked and entered, “Mr. Hawk, Boss, contractor in Nogales says he has a problem down there. Somehow expensive equipment is disappearing and there was some vandalism last night.” She waited for an answer as the two elected officials took what she said and mulled it around in their minds.

  “Well, Josie, I guess we have a job for our faithful Investigator, Hopalong Cassidy and his faithful sidekick, Chuck. Get him on the line will you, please?”

  Josie walked over to the Governor’s desk, dialed the number, and waited. Within seconds she said, “The Governor would like to speak with Hopalong Cassidy.” She handed the phone to the Governor.

  After a short conversation, she hung up and said, “Now, Hawk, where were we?”

  “Sitting here patting ourselves on the back.”

  They both laughed.

  #

  “Why does the Governor’s secretary call you Hopalong Cassidy?”

  “Never has before. When did this happen?”

  “On the phone call that sent us ripping down I-10 toward Tucson and the mighty border town of Nogales.”

  “I guess it’s because of my wounds in the last war a couple of months ago. I do tend to limp.”

  “Well, I hope that doesn’t make me Gabby Hayes as California, his sidekick.” Chuck was serious.

  “You are my sidekick, Partner.” Tan grinned.

  “Okay, Hoppy, let’s go get’em.”

  The white Suburban continued south.

  2:15 PM

  Hassayampa Inn

  The stainless steel trays looked like a swarm of locust had been through the room at the Hassayampa Inn as the three sat back in their chairs and glared at each other until the elder said, “I need to get some work done, so, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you would both kindly depart. There is nothing left to do until the time comes to destroy Phoenix or pick up the money.” He stood and went to the door, opened it, and stepped aside. “Your chariots await.”

  They left. He closed the door behind them.

  Picking up his cell phone, he dialed.

  “Yes?”

  “He is a bore. Relieve him of his existence.”

  “Tonight.”

  #

  The two walked down the sidewalk toward the parking area. “I hate that man. He looks at me like I was scum or something.”

  She looked him in the eye, “We could kill him and take over the operation.”

  “But, he’s the only one with all the information on the destruction if they don’t pay up. Hell, we don’t even know how he’s gonna do it. Why am I in this? I don’t know.”

  “We don’t need to destroy anything. We negotiate and get the money, even if it’s only a couple hundred million, we’re ahead. I’m not liking the direction this has taken, either.”

  “We can do it, can’t we? Just the two of us.”

  “When he calls for the next meeting in a few days, bring a gun and we’ll take him out.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He veered toward his Harley as she smiled at his back, “You will be the second death.”

  #

  Back in the room, the elder thought again of his failures. It wasn’t enough that he had to hide in the spider hole for hours after the failed Indian uprising, or running to California to reorient himself to a plan B. He should be dead and with his virgins in Paradise, but ‘no,’ he was here dealing with idiots who only think of money.

  The preparations were all in place. The plan was fool proof and he was no fool. He had proved that over and over again in his fight for the cause of killing the Great Satan.

  Stepping out onto the balcony of his room, he said, “Time to head south for the next phase of this operation. This should be fun, I have never played the role of an officer of the law before.”

  The wind did not answer.

  10 PM

  Arizona Highway 77 five miles north of Oracle

  Some folks got home almost every night, but not Larry Ploughe. He had been on the road for five weeks covering much of the country with all kinds of crap in the trailer that people wanted moved and other people wanted to buy, or had bought. The load he had now was not one he would normally carry, high explosives were not his cup of tea. One wrong bounce and they wouldn’t find enough of him to scrape up for a good funeral, but they would be able to bury him in a matchbox – cheap casket. With 65 miles to go before he could drop this load off in Globe at the mines, he looked forward to deadheadi
ng to Apache Junction to spend as much time as possible with his wife and family. ‘Some family,’ he thought, ‘three dogs, a cat, and a wife. Yup, some family.’

  Within five minutes of clearing the Oracle turnoff on state highway 77 he saw red and blue lights flashing in his rearview mirror. “Damn, what now?” He turned on his right turn signal and looked for a solid spot to pull off before rolling to a stop, feeling very happy that he had satellite tracking. No log book hassles that way. He rolled down his window.

  “You want to step down here with your papers, please.” It wasn’t a question.

  “What’s the problem, Officer?”

  “Just step out of the cab, please.”

  “Okay, on my way.”

  After climbing down, he handed his junk to the officer and leaned against the cab.

  “Come to my car, I can’t see these too well in this light.” The officer let Larry go ahead of him to the back of the truck. At one point Larry thought he heard gravel crunching under the truck. He bent over. “Just keep walking. When you get to the last light on your trailer, stop and wait for me there. I’ll get in my car and call this in to check your papers.”

  Larry did as he was told, cussing under his breath. “Why the stop?”

  “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Larry leaned against the box, grumbling even louder. He examined the car. It was an unmarked car, but had old fashioned big, clunky lights on top. The officer was in a legit looking uniform, but something just wasn’t right. Nothing stood out as wrong, other than the lights, yet everything felt very wrong. He wasn’t speeding. His plates were up to date. Everything about the rig and its contents should be in the computer. What was wrong? Did he have a taillight out or something else equally as trivial?

  He heard the engine roar and felt the truck move. Almost falling in the dirt, he yelled, “Hey, that’s my rig. Stop,” as he started running after his rig. When it finally hit him he couldn’t run fast enough to catch the semi, he was a good twenty yards behind in the chase down the road. He stopped as the cop went roaring by him spewing gravel from his rear tires, lights flashing, and siren going strong, “Go get that thief.” Then he caught on again as he watched the lights go out and the siren die, the cop was part of the theft.

  Larry looked around. Nothing but miles of nothing as far as a guy could see. The only thing to do was start walking the four or five miles back to Oracle. He knew it was a much longer way to a phone going north. “Damn.” His cell phone was in the cab of the truck. He kicked an empty plastic water bottle into the bushes. “Double Damn. If I get my hands on those guys.” This time he kicked a Bud Lite can. A car roared by him like he was standing still. He was. He started walking.

  A couple miles up the road the driver stopped the truck to disable the GPS tracking system by busting it up and tossing it into the ditch.

  In an office in California the alarm went off. The watcher on the console saw which truck was no longer auto-reporting and wrote the time and truck number in his log. He decided that his bosses would see the log in the morning. No sense in waking up sleeping bosses, when drivers were always messing with the systems so they could stop and see their girlfriends or party for a night.

  He went back to his novel.

  11 PM

  Nogales, AZ

  “How long we gonna sit here, Hoppy?”

  “You sure are gabby, Gabby. I don’t know, about another six or seven hours if nothing happens before work begins tomorrow. What do you make of all we’ve seen and heard so far?”

  Gabby thought before replying, “Not much. Vandalism looks like a teenage tagger. Wall is going to be painted anyhow. Now they just have to cover that art work. The missing materials side of this case leaves me blank. Yard locked. Doors locked. Contractor has the only sets of keys, one at home and one on his belt. Gotta be a real good lock picker or an inside the contractor’s household job. It has to be someone who knows where the expensive stuff is kept. A lap-top, hammer drills, paint sprayer, walkie-talkies, and the petty cash box aren’t your usual burglary targets. Well, the cash and radios, yeah.”

  “Got to be someone close to the job. Can’t figure the contractor for it. His rep is on the line. This contract will make him bundles of bucks. I’ve seen the contract.”

  “We gonna stake this place out forever?”

  “Couple of nights at least. Quit whining, gets us out of that office, doesn’t it.”

  Another hour went by slowly.

  “What’s that?” Gabby said, pointing at the shed where the brand new replacement tools were stashed. A dark something was moving.

  “Don’t know, but it don’t belong there. Let’s move closer. Looks like our man.”

  The two of them moved from behind the rock wall and toward the shed. Stealth was easy in the soft, churned up dirt. Getting to within 50 feet of the shed didn’t help them determine what they were seeing one bit.

  There was the sound of light tapping from the shed.

  As they watched, the shed door opened and closed. Through the small window next to the door they saw a light come on, a small light just enough to make a glow inside the shed. Tan used hand signals to direct Chuck to the side behind the door while he would move to the window. Their moves were slow and cautious until they reached their objectives. As Tan was rising to look in the window, the door opened, the wrong way.

  As everything moved to slow motion, Tan’s mind told him the person inside had knocked the pins from the hinges and Chuck was now facing the open door and the perp. He threw his weight against the door.

  It met a heavy object.

  The object screamed, like a girl.

  Tan threw the door open and Chuck went through the opening and landed on top of a rumpled, lumpy pile of dark gray trench coat squirming on the floor. Tan followed.

  “Get off of me.” The voice was female and had a slight accent.

  Chuck pulled his handcuffs and cuffed both hands behind her back before standing. Both of the men helped her up and turned her around. Tan opened the coat and did a quick pat down before asking, “What’s your name?”

  Chuck flipped the light switch.

  She closed her eyes and turned her face away from the sudden brightness before saying, “Puddin’ Tame, ask me again and I tell you the same,” in a slight eastern European accent.

  “Cute,” said Chuck.

  Tan didn’t know whether Chuck was referring to the girl or her reply. She was cute. Matter of fact, she was stunning. Deep black hair was a bit mussed, a rosy cheek had a smudge, hands were manicured, but dirty.

  “Young lady you are in trouble. Cooperation would help your case. Resistance can only make it worse. What’s your name?”

  “I have no name.”

  “Oh, goody, Clint Eastwood in female form.” Chuck dripped sarcasm.

  Chuck checked the pockets on the coat and found the new radios.

  Tan looked at his partner, “Get the car.”

  “On my way.”

  “This way, girl with no name.” Tan took her arm and guided her out the door.

  #

  The Arab guided the truck in as Ski jockeyed the big rig in a space with only six inches on each side. Once again he marveled at the effort put in to lift the ceiling and widen this place. He yelled, “Shut it off, please.”

  Ski killed the big engine and eased out of the cab. He skinned an elbow on the side wall sliding to the ground before he wiggled out through the tight space. “We did it, Boss.”

  “Yeah, Ski, we did. How about you living in the cabin for a while, say three or four days, before you go home? I’ll come get you. There’s groceries in there and I’ll bring you a newspaper and check on you every day. How’s that?”

  “I can do that. How long before payday?”

  “Three days, maybe four.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Yes, you will,” the Arab said as he turned back to the imitation cop car. The lights came off and went in the trunk. The magnetic emblem o
f the Pima County Sheriff’s Office followed. After he had changed clothes, the uniform and everything else, except the gun, went on top of the pile and the lid was shut.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  The Arab drove to Globe where he stashed the car in the McDonald’s parking lot, tossed the keys in the dirt next to his rental, and drove back to Prescott.

  3

  October 8

  3 AM

  Pima County Sheriff’s Substation

  Oracle, AZ

  “Mr. Ploughe, if you’ll just have a seat and let me dig out a report form, I’ll get your story and we can get on with finding your rig. I have already put out a BOLO, that’s a Be-On-the-Look-Out, with all the info you gave me to help identify the rig. Now it’s the hard stuff, the paperwork. We all hate paperwork, so let’s agree to just finish it without whining. Okay?”

  Deputy Trish Hardin was one of the most patient of deputies, but she was getting a bit miffed at this trucker. There just wasn’t anything else she could do at this time. She knew it was serious, losing a rig and a load of high explosives, especially the high explosives. She had called the Sheriff, the dispatcher, and the bomb squad in Phoenix. There was nothing else she could do. She had even allowed Larry to call his boss at the outfit he was hauling for, and his wife, who was coming to pick him up. Nothing else could be done for now, but the paperwork, there is always the paperwork. This one would be a large stack of paper, with explosives, corrosives, and permits involved, along with the impersonation of a Law Enforcement Officer by the perps. She would rather wrestle drunks on a Friday night, than do this stack of paperwork.

  Larry looked around again. Finding a chair, he sat. There was no happiness in Larry. He had never lost a rig before. He had never lost so much as the smallest piece of the materials he had hauled, ever. He was ready to chew nails and spit out BB’s. Oh, well, this deputy seemed efficient. She had allowed him to use her cell phone and had put out the word on the radio. The coffee she provided was more than adequate, not like he made, but very good. “Thank you, Deputy Hardin, I appreciate all you’ve done. Let’s get it done. What do you need?”