by Doug Ball
“I have talked already with Jacob Swarz and he is ready to work with you and law enforcement to make this happen. What do you think, am I dreaming?”
“Yes, Governor, you are dreaming, but we get enough heads together and dreams can come true. We won the last one, we can win this one. What’s Jacob’s office number?”
“It’s all here, Mike. I don’t want to lose one more life in Arizona because we didn’t try hard enough. I don’t want police, fire, and school vehicles left behind, either. New Orleans wasted so much transport it was pathetic. Lots more people could have gotten out if all those vehicles had been used.” The determined look on her face told the General more than all her words.
“Time to get moving then.” He snapped a crisp salute, did a really sharp about face, and headed for the door in a parade march step.
“One more thing, try to keep this as quiet as possible. No sense in making our citizens worried.” Now she was pleading.
The General stopped and, moving in a casual manner, turned toward the lady behind the desk. “Governor, I understand. We’ll do our best, but you and I both know the people of Arizona are a tough lot and given all the information, they will produce wonders putting their lives on the line in order to get the job done. We’re a crazy independent mess of people, we are.
“Go and make it happen without telling too many of those citizens that their capital city is in danger. We don’t want the masses swarming Phoenix with guns like the last emergency swarmed Tumacacori, now do we?”
“Your wish is my command.” He turned and left.
She grabbed her bag and told Rachel to call Burt, it was time to go.
“Burt’s cute, can I borrow him to drive me around?”
“On your own dime, young lady, and be nice. This isn’t a job to find a husband in, but he is sort of cute in a muscle bound way. I’m outta here.”
“Bye.” Rachel grabbed the phone and hit the speed dial beside the word, DRIVER.
Evening
The quintet of Tan and his Investigators sat together around a seven foot long oval table. Each man had a laptop and hub in front of him. A stack of supplies and hand held radios was on the smaller table in the corner. Each man looked tired, and unhappy.
Leon started the meeting, “I got squat except a hint of a drone to carry a heavy payload a hundred miles, and that was in an overheard conversation in a high dollar bar. Could have been just a couple of aireotech guys talking about a new government project. I got the man’s license number and first name. All this may or may not be relevant to our case. It just caught my attention out of all the talk I heard today.”
“We got nothing about anything out of the ordinary.” Lenny wasn’t happy with their days work.
Chuck said, “Got one thing funny. The order for the explosives was amended by a second order. The mine in Globe says they sent in no amendment. That addition was two hundred pounds of materials. The second order also stipulated that the delivery truck was to be GPS tracked and the feed was to come to a specific phone number, which it turns out, was a throw away phone bought at a dollar store in California filled with minutes from a phone card purchased in Oklahoma. Whoever we’re dealing with knew exactly where that truck was at all times. The GPS must have been shut down when the hijack took place or very shortly thereafter. The track in the trucking company office ends not two miles from the location of the hijacking.”
“Well, done. Anything else?” Tan had a satisfied look on his face.
#
The General and two of his aides plus his new Command Sergeant Major squirmed in their chairs across the table from Jacob Swarz and his two top people. The civilians were used to long meetings. The General had outlawed them in his organization; thirty minutes or less was his order.
The Sergeant Major summarized, “Okay, so we don’t know how, when, or where, but we must be ready to respond. I hate responding. Let’s get, - what’s the buzz word these days? Ah yes, - proactive. What would be the common needs in every one of the scenarios we have on the white board?” He pointed to the board.
The General smiled. “Transport.”
“Medical.”
“Communication, starting with getting all the organizations informed and the people informed.”
Major Whitley chimed in with, “Open a command center, a backup center, and comm links independent of any grid requirements, capable of operating totally cut off from power for three days. This must include all emergency personnel, first responders, and backup individuals. Never underestimate the need for intelligent, trained gofers. The Guard may be the best source. We have all that on McDowell and South Mountain. Two spots, both high and dry, and South Mountain is not downwind of downtown.”
The atmosphere in the room was tense. No one liked siting around a table planning for disasters. No one liked it in the least bit when planning for ‘who knows what’ disaster that might just come along. Much of what they had already gone over was plan after plan for every conceivable disaster that just might happen to the Phoenix or Tucson Metro areas. None of them, except the dirty nuke, would be worth the ransom of half a billion dollars.
The General stood up, “I have another place to be in twenty minutes. I will leave you all to get busy on the outline of the common elements. If you need me, call. Major, make it happen just as you did in the Battle for Arizona.” He walked out.
“Yes, Sir,” the Major said to the General’s back. “I’ll get right on it.”
To the room he added, “John Wayne is reputed to have said, ’life’s tough and it’s tougher when you’re stupid.’ I have found that life is tougher when you are perceived as the man that gets things done.”
The woman sitting next to Jacob Swarz rolled her eyes and nodded. “Been there, done that,” she said. Helen Michaels had been there for a long time. As a civilian she got paid well to maintain that reputation.
She added, “I propose we get the other Emergency Management offices in the Valley represented at this table.”
Nobody commented.
Jacob started the group with, “We can and will commandeer every mass transit vehicle, school bus, and ambulance for transportation. I would suggest we ask all the owners of those vehicles to keep the tanks full every time they come in. We could also ask the car dealers to provide a method to get at their larger vans in time of need. Maybe if we talk to their insurance companies they will want folks to drive their cars to a safe area. Save them money and give folks transport. Most folks will go where they are supposed to and the cars will only have a higher number of miles on the odometer. The ones that get stolen we can find later.”
So began the master-plan-for-whatever, as it became known within the next half hour, short form, the Whatever Plan.
8
Tan’s car gave him fits all the way home. It didn’t want to idle at the stop lights, which were many in downtown Phoenix, and sputtered when it did go. “Probably water in the gas or a fuel filter,” he surmised to himself as he sang along with the Country Music on the radio. As he rolled into the driveway he thought of Tank. If Tank was staying at the mine and the forensics troops were out of there, was he in danger?
He tried to call and give him a head’s up to watch his backside. The bad guys just might want to finish the mine collapse. The phone rang once and went to voicemail indicating his phone was off or he was not connecting with a tower. From the mine there was iffey service depending just where that phone might be on the mountain. The best place was over the saddle on the highway side.
Tan left a message and made a note to ask the Sheriff to send someone out tomorrow and warn him and to have the mine checked on every once in a while, particularly if there were fresh tracks at the turnoff on the highway. That thought made him wonder why there had been no fresh tracks there on the night of the hijacking. The flash picture from an old western hit him. The bad guys were wiping out the tracks of their get away with a tree branch full of leaves, sweeping the trail clear of tracks. He would have to check
for a tree branch, dead and drying, alongside the road to the mine or around the mine.
An hour after dinner Tan had the car fixed. His hotrod pickup had a big can fuel filter and it was full of water. He ran the engine for twenty minutes, taking the kids and mama for a ride. When he got back it was stuttering again. More water. He drained the fuel tank and found a little water remaining. He poured in another bottle of gas dryer.
As his wife was removing the kids from underfoot, she asked, “Where’d you gas up last?”
“Quik Store down on the corner before the Interstate. Same place I been using since we moved here. I guess it could be an accumulation. I’ll go elsewhere and see what happens.”
“You better keep an eye on it, Honey, or you’ll end up stranded someplace. Takes me a long time to get these three kids in the car seats all by myself. Then I’d have to find you and I don’t know this area very well, yet.”
“You got a point there, Babe, a real good point.”
All five went in the house by the back door.
#
“Mr. Ploughe, this is Special Investigator Charles Benson with the Governor’s office, would you be available tomorrow morning around ten to chat with me for a bit.”
“I already told three sets of cops all I know, do we have to go through all this again. My company wants me to roll tomorrow about noon from Mesa, if I don’t make that they will fire me. They said so, and I believe them.”
“Would eight be a better time then and would you like to just meet me in Mesa somewhere for breakfast or just a cup of coffee and a piece of pie?”
Larry smiled at the idea of a cop buying him coffee. He had done the reverse many times. “Yeah, that would be great. How about the Denny’s on South Country Club?”
“Works for me. What time?”
“Make it nine?”
Chuck was happy with that. “Nine it is. See you there. I’ll be wearing a University of Connecticut tee shirt.”
“That will be unique in that crowd.”
“Yup.” Chuck was satisfied, he’d get his interview, travel less, sleep later, and charge the meal to the investigation. “See you in the morning. Good bye.”
“Bye.” Larry sat the phone in the charger.
He looked at his wife and said, “One more time. I wish I was a carry out boy at a grocery store instead of a driver of a jacked rig.”
“Get over it, Sweety. You aren’t the first and won’t be the last. It wasn’t your fault and all that again. Just be my husband and I’ll be happy.”
“You’re stuck with me, Babe.” He gave her a hug and then picked her up. “Bedtime.”
“It isn’t even dark.”
“And?”
#
Tan’s phone went berserk on the table next to his recliner. “Yeah, this is Tan.”
“Globe PD here. We just found a car that matches the description of the imitation cop car involved in the explosives hi-jacking. Lights, uniform, and other paraphernalia in the trunk. Our CSI folks are going over it now. Should have some info by morning.”
“Sounds good. Be careful for booby traps.”
“Already too late for that. None present.”
“Okay, can you fax me a copy of all findings as soon as available?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, and bye.” Tan hung up.
Little America, Flagstaff, AZ
The man sat in the overstuffed chair in the lounge, his cell phone in hand as he dialed a number. The waiter walked by, he pointed at his glass, and waited for the connection to complete.
“Yeah.” The call was answered.
“How’s my drone?” The man threw a ten on the table awaiting the waiter he saw returning.
“Working just fine, Sir. I need to make room for it to carry a gallon or two more fuel in order to make the range you wanted. I’m at the point now that more fuel means more weight and more fuel is needed to push the weight. I know that works from the first ounce on up but the fuselage size for the payload you want is restrictive. I may have to add a few inches to the fuselage, which won’t be that big a problem. It will be ready to go on your target date.”
“What range are you getting now?”
“A thousand pounds for about 90 miles give or take with the winds. Head wind really knocks it down due to the blunt nose you called for.”
“How about a false nose, more aerodynamic, that is just empty and light?”
“I tried that three times and every time it has collapsed. By the time I get it strong enough to stand up to the wind force the weight gets involved again. I’ll beat it soon, don’t worry.”
“It is not I who has to worry, my friend.”
“Oh, yeah, the contract and the pictures. I’m on it.”
The man sipped his drink and severed the connection. One more call and the phone would go in the trash. He dialed and listened to it ring.
“Hello.”
‘She did have a sweet voice,’ he thought. “We need to meet. Do you know where the pull off called ‘the Aspens’ is on the Snow Bowl road?”
“Yes, but why way out there.”
“There will be no one to interrupt our conversation.”
“What time?” her voice sounded put out and frustrated.
“Sundown. We can watch the sunset as we talk. Should be very pretty tonight with the clouds and rain in the forecast.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You do that.”
He picked up some of his change and went out the front door of the lounge. In his room he retrieved his coat and wiped the phone clean, spraying it with cooking oil, and before walking down the hall, rolled the phone in an old newspaper.
Old 66 was busy with early evening traffic which meant he waited extra-long for the lights to change allowing him to gawk like a tourist as he drove toward the Northern Arizona University a couple miles away.
He stopped at the Barnes and Noble Book Store, tucked the newspaper under his arm with its concealed throw away phone, and, as he passed a trash can, the bundle slipped easily into the trash bin. Even if someone found it, they would get nothing more than 18 minutes of talk time. The cost for three untraceable phone calls totaling 12 minutes, under twenty bucks.
After browsing through the store for a few minutes and seeing nothing that caught his eye except a young lady that violated in the worst way the dress code of his Islamic beliefs. Her skimpy shorts and halter top didn’t leave much to the imagination of a worldly man like himself. Islam was a great religion, but there were too many do’s and don’ts, with an emphasis on the don’ts.
Entering his car he got to thinking of all that had happened in the past few months. He pushed and shoved the Native American tribes to revolt. The dollars and chances taken to get them up to date weapons and ammunition would have been worth it if they had done what they said they would do. The three men that had been his arrows into the tribes had let him down over and over again, until he finally just let them go to the Snow Bowl and make their stand. He personally had shot two of them during the attack by Arizona forces. He hid in the spider hole he had prepared days earlier and it was touch and go for hours as he waited for folks to leave the scene. He finally fell asleep until dark. Not as easy as killing that traitor Johnston down near Yuma. But, that was another story.
A flashback of the night he had danced with them around the fire, working them into a frenzy, and ready to take the battle to the white man. Unfortunately, he didn’t lead them on the war path that night. Once they slept it off, it was back to the same old routine of talk, drink, and complain about the shackles of the white man’s ways. His ego was not happy with the results.
Now was the time to make a bankroll which would allow him to live happily ever after or if it failed to die a martyr immediately transported to Paradise and given 70 virgins to enjoy for eternity. ‘The virgins wouldn’t stay virgins very long,’ he thought.
He shifted his thinking to the rendezvous at the Aspens. Too bad she had to die, but her wor
k was done once she had set up the cache in Globe last night.
17 October
A driver from Bozwald Trucking Co. Ltd. accompanied the forensics crew to the mine just as the sun was coming over the Galiuro Mountains. Being on the east side of the mountain and almost as high as the Galiuros, the mine with the truck still inside was lighted like a stage waiting for the actors. The driver would, if possible, drive the truck out of the mine and back to the Bozwald Trucking’s yard in east Mesa.
Ben, the forensics team leader, noticed right away that Tank wasn’t in sight. The leader was troubled by that because Tank’s truck was still parked beside the cabin. The driver went to the big rig and squeezed in the door. The keys were in the ignition. He turned the key while holding the clutch down. It started up without hesitation. Now he was really worried.
The team checked the shack. Nothing out of the ordinary for a hermit bachelor’s pad jumped out at them. Ben called into the mine mouth, listening hard for a reply. Two of his team went walking in opposite directions looking for Tank. Nothing.
Ben climbed to the top of the saddle and called Tan.
The new driver checked the truck as well as he could with it in the tunnel of the mine. Looked at all the tires and beat on them with his little bat. When he was satisfied, he climbed into the cab and took a good look around. Anything personal of Larry’s had been removed to be checked and stored.
Everything was covered in fingerprint powder. His handkerchief did the trick wiping it off the wheel and gauges. “Ready to go here.”
Hearing his voice echo in the shaft startled him enough he gave up the dusting and sat up in the seat. “Time to rumble.” And, rumble it did. Exhaust fumes and noise surrounded the truck, filling the mine. He let the truck idle and warm up slowly. This would be tight work and he did not want any stalls.
Ben returned, positioned himself to see as much as possible, and motioned for the driver to bring in out, slowly.
