Spy ah-4

by Ted Bell

  He successfully navigated the sweeping left hand turn at forty miles and hour and slowed the machine as he pulled up abreast of the White House. With darting jabs at his controls, he armed the main fire control systems and reached out for the small joystick that operated the giant tank’s turret. A second later, he had the North Portico of the White House squarely in his primary gun sight.

  A great lantern hung suspended by chains from the porte-cochere that sheltered the North Portico. The lantern glowed a soft yellow through the sleeting snow. He’d seen countless photographs of this famous scene in his life, harried diplomats coming and going through this storied portal, trying to save the world from people just like him.

  A burst from his forward machine guns obliterated the lantern. He moved his hand over the primary weapons control panel. He would fire his first missile right through the Great Satan’s door!

  “THAT’S ENOUGH,” he heard Dr. Khan say in his headset. “Come on out. Playtime is over. We’re due at the river for the demonstration.”

  “I did well?” Top asked his superior, exiting the Ogre Tank Simulator. It was even colder in the underground bunker than it had been inside the simulator. And he didn’t have the Stones to keep him company, heat his blood.

  “Yes. You did well. Almost perfect, in fact.”

  “Only machines are capable of perfection, Leader,” he responded, knowing the words Khan wanted to hear.

  “It’s a pity you won’t be driving one of these brutes north, Muhammad.”

  “Yes. I come by these skills naturally, Dr. Khan,” Top said, accepting his fleece-lined bomber jacket from one of the technicians. “My father commanded the 192nd Armored Division in the Valley of Tears. Golan Heights. 1973.”

  “I knew your father well. He was a fierce warrior. But he lost. A mere 150 Israeli tanks stopped 1,400 invading Syrian tanks in the bottleneck. It was a disaster. I vowed that day never to see a repeat of your father’s humiliation.”

  Abu Khan knew whereof he spoke.

  In 1973, in the Yom Kippur War, Dr. Abu Musab al-Khan had commanded all the mechanized armor divisions deployed on the Golan Heights. It was a mere two-hour tank ride south to Israeli territory. The Golan Heights protected Israel’s north. Any attack from Syria had to be topographically channeled through one of only two passes in which armored vehicles could cross.

  The surprised and vastly outnumbered Israeli troops held off the invaders for a vital 48 hours. In that time, they were able to mobilize and deploy the necessary forces required to beat back and ultimately defeat the Syrians.

  Khan had long since redeemed himself. He had been responsible for the Syrian build-up of highly advanced weaponry in response to the Yom Kippur disaster. Now, in order to implement Hafez al-Assad’s vision of a “Greater Syria,” Khan’s generals possessed 4,000 manned tanks on the Golan crestline.

  The troops had doubled in size and were equipped with Scud-C missiles, twice as powerful and four times more accurate than the Iraqi Scuds that rained down upon Israel during the Gulf War. When war came, his plan was to unleash vast numbers of the new Scuds against Haifa and Tel Aviv, sowing widespread civilian panic and seriously disrupting Israel’s emergency reserve mobilization.

  But Khan had far grander ideas. At a secret meeting in Damascus, he had seen Top’s Latin American battle plan in its infancy. It immediately dawned on him that here was a chance to build, test, and field his dream. A remote-controlled air force. And a mechanized army incapable of human foibles and battlefield stupidity because it would be autonomous once launched.

  “You’ve created an invincible army, Leader.”

  “Yes, God willing. Because there is no chance of human error. Keep that in mind when you play your little war games, Muhammad, my brother. The Day approaches. It is out of your hands now. Inshallah.”

  Top looked Kahn squarely in the eyes. In truth, he had come to believe in the vision. The wizard from Damascus believed that infallible machines should strike the first blows in this jihad. Death would roam the streets of Washington, unseen and unexpected. The Cause would be better served if Abu Khan and Muhammad Top were here in the bunker on the Great Day. Let infallible machines do the work of destroying the enemy’s military and political infrastructure.

  Then send the armies north to wreak havoc on the civililan population.

  “Yes, Leader. It is out of my hands.”

  “I believe the Bedouin is ready for inspection?”

  “She is. Let us go at once.”

  Bedouin was a small, unmanned submarine that would ultimately carry a single but very lethal piece of cargo. The sub could be operated from remote locations up to 7,000 miles away. Inside Bedouin was a 150-kiloton nuclear weapon. The warhead was shielded to provide protection from the electronic pulse of any simultaneous nearby nuclear explosions. In two hours, the Volkswagen-sized sub was due to be airlifted to Manaus for further shipment to Mexico. From there, Bedouin would be transported by tractor-trailer truck to a pre-determined location in America.

  The location was a small farm just outside of Lee’s Ferry, a tiny town located on the Potomac River in Virginia. It was called Morning Glory Farm. Apple orchards. The farm was owned by an extremely wealthy individual from Rio de Janeiro. He in turn was owned by a large multinational company headquartered in Dubai.

  The man, a German, had been a traitor.

  But the traitor was dead now.

  His name had been Zimmermann.

  57

  PRAIRIE, TEXAS

  W on’t this truck go any faster?” June asked Daisy.

  “Do you want to drive? I’m going as fast as I can without killing us.”

  “I’m just looking at my watch. Don’t get all uppity with me, Daisy Dixon.”

  “What time is it now?” Daisy said, glancing over.

  “Quarter to.”

  “Damn. And FedEx is always on time, too. I’ve seen his van. Pulls up next to the automated station right on the button every time.”

  “Well, step on it then. Take the shortcut to the Courthouse.”

  “Cut through the filling station? Are you crazy? Ross will have his chains up on both sides. He closes at nine.”

  “When is the last time you took the short cut, Daisy?”

  “I’m married to Franklin. I don’t take short cuts.”

  At five minutes to ten, they rounded the corner on two wheels and careened onto Main Street six blocks west of the Courthouse Square. Daisy thought the street was strangely empty for a Friday night. Most of the lights were off. Everything looked shut up, dark, like a ghost town. Weird-feeling. Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

  Elvis had definitely left the building.

  “What the hay is going on around here, girlfriend?” June said, taking the words right out of Daisy’s mouth.

  “The streetlights are all shot out,” Daisy said. “Some windows too.”

  Daisy slowed to a crawl and doused the headlights. They were still five blocks away from Courthouse Square. The FedEx machine sat on the sidewalk right out front of the old building. She looked at her watch. Five minutes until the FedEx delivery kid showed. Daisy knew him from when she taught art at the Prairie High School. His name was Buddy Shirley. He was never, ever late for class.

  Daisy saw something else that was very disturbing. A couple of doors were hanging ajar, like folks had left in a hurry. Somebody had shot up the town.

  June rolled to a stop and set the brake. “Something’s not right. We better just sit tight till we know what’s going on.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait a second. What’s that truck doing up there?” June whispered a few seconds later.

  “Hell if I know,” Daisy said, “We better stop before they see us.”

  There were very few cars parked on Main Street. But there was a big truck parked directly across from the courthouse. It looked like an old moving van. It was parked outside Sam Robin’s appliance store. Which was fine, except for the fact that the rear doors no
w opened wide and there was a man inside with a powerful flashlight. He pointed it down the street, the beam pausing on the pick-up a second, then moving on.

  They’d crouched low on the seat.

  “Think he saw us?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I hope not. Stay down.”

  As the women watched from four blocks away, a couple of large boys carried another huge cardboard box right out the front door and hefted it up onto the truck’s hydraulic lift. Daisy had seen boxes like that. Not that she’d ever owned one, but she knew what it was all right. A super-sized flat-screen TV that cost five thousand dollars minimum.

  “Looters,” June said.

  “Yeah. We’ll set tight right here. Buddy has to pass this way to make his pickup.”

  “You think those looters have guns, don’t you, Daisy?”

  “What do you think, June-bug?”

  “That old truck does not look the least bit local.”

  “No, it’s not. Those boys look Mexican.”

  “Well, they’ve got brazen enough, haven’t they?” June said. “Just cross the border and do your Friday night one-stop shopping.”

  “Something bad is going on,” Daisy said, her voice low. “Nothing feels right in this town.”

  June nodded her head. “So, how are we going to get Buddy the envelope? You can’t just drive up there next to the van and put the envelope in the FedEx slot and hope Buddy picks it up. Those hombres up there would just as soon shoot us as look at us, you ask me.”

  “There are more shells in the pocket of my robe. Here. Load up. Both barrels. Have it ready in your hands.”

  June reloaded the Parker Sweet Sixteen. She snapped it shut with a satisfying click and thumbed the safe button forward to Fire.

  “Do you think they saw us?” June said again through compressed lips, looking out of the corner of her eye.

  “I think they’re pretty busy taking Sam’s inventory,” Daisy said, grinning at June.

  “Shoot, no wonder folks around here hate—”

  “Hush! I’m thinking.”

  “It’s ten o’clock, Daisy, on the button,” June whispered fifteen seconds later, her head way down, just peeking over the dash at the looters down the street, keeping the gun low. Then she craned her head around and peered back over the windowsill, looking for headlights coming up Main.

  “Where is he? You think he got spooked?”

  “Buddy will be here, June. Any second now. I’ve got an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll flag Buddy down when he comes and just hand him the envelope as he goes by. You put the sheriff’s Key West address with a zip code on the envelope?”

  “Sure did. Look here. Just like he asked me to.”

  Daisy grabbed the envelope, opened her door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She glanced down the street at the looters, fervently wishing the pick-up’s interior dome light was busted like it normally was. She shut the door softly and started around the rear of the truck.

  “Here comes Buddy,” June said from inside the truck. They both saw the van’s single pair of headlights moving very quickly up Main Street toward them. Daisy saw the dome light come on again in her truck as June cracked her door.

  “June! Stay there! Don’t get out of—”

  “You’re not leaving me here,” June said, swinging her door open and stepping out into the street just as Buddy’s white FedEx Home Delivery truck roared by her going about sixty, blurring the purple and green letters on the side. Nearly took her door off. When Buddy was almost abreast of the automated pick-up box, he hit the brakes hard and fishtailed to a stop, leaving the engine running. The driver’s side door flew open, and she saw Buddy’s boot hit the pavement.

  “Buddy! No!” Daisy screamed, running down the street toward him as fast as she could, “Stay in the damned truck! They’ve got guns!”

  There was a sudden staccato explosion of heavy automatic weapons fire from the other side of the street. Daisy registered a muzzle flash from the man standing on the lift at the rear of the big van. The FedEx panel truck rocked with the force of the slugs and the passenger side window imploded in a shower of glass. She saw two more men rush out of Sam’s, both pulling weapons and shouting.

  Daisy saw Buddy start to crumple to the street. He caught hold of the driver’s side door, though, and pulled himself back inside behind the wheel. She watched him still trying to pull his door closed and then the panel truck lurched forward, swerving crazily as Buddy floored it, yanking his boot inside. The two looters who’d come out into the street chased him half a block, firing at the back end of the van.

  “Go, Buddy!” she screamed as she turned away. “Get out of here!”

  58

  D aisy ran fast as she could to her pickup truck without looking back at the Mexicans. She was waiting for one of them to shoot her in the back but nobody did. Back in the truck, June was sitting straight up in the seat and she had the shotgun poking out her window. “They shot Buddy, didn’t they?” June said, and there wasn’t trace of fear in her voice now. It was as if the woman had suddenly been rendered nerveless. “Let’s go see if we can help him.”

  Daisy jumped in and floored the accelerator before she popped the emergency brake handle. It was a technique her older brother Rance had taught her. It still worked.

  “Whoa!” June said, as they shot forward, the rear tires burning rubber.

  “What are you doing?” Daisy cried. June was half-in, half-out the passenger window and they were coming up fast on the old moving van.

  “Shooting back,” June said. She was sighting down the barrel at the hombre standing on the lift watching Buddy’s escape. The big man turned toward them at the sound of their oncoming truck, raising his gun.

  June aimed the shotgun at him, leading him, and pulled both triggers almost simultaneously. The noise inside the truck was deafening.

  “Don’t mess with Texas, asshole!” June had screamed over the blast.

  Daisy was going way too fast now to concentrate on anything other than the road in front of her. The two remaining Mexicans leapt out of the road just in time to avoid being hit by the pickup. The moving van blurred by on her right. She no longer could see the one who’d been standing on the lift.

  “Did you get him?” she asked June.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking back. “Uh-oh. Keep going. The other two are climbing up into the cab.”

  She saw the lights come on in her rear view mirror. “Here they come.”

  The moving van was pulling quickly away from the curb in pursuit. It probably wasn’t all that speedy, but then neither were they. She mashed down the accelerator, fire-walling it.

  “Take some more shells, June-bug,” Daisy said, eyes straight ahead and both hands on the wheel. “Take ’em all.”

  “All my life I’ve been wondering what ‘riding shotgun’ meant,” June said, digging once more in Daisy’s robe for the cartridges.

  Daisy smiled at her.

  “There’s Buddy,” she said, “I think we’re gaining on him.”

  They could see Buddy’s taillights now, disappearing around a bend in the highway and starting up a hill. They were outside the town limits, heading east into the desert over toward Kingsville. The headlights of the big van were still in her rear view, but the Mexicans were having a hard time catching up.

  “Can you catch him?”

  “He’s faster. I’m going to try.”

  “Can’t you signal him to stop? With the lights, I mean?”

  “We can’t stop, June. The two amigos are still on our butts.”

  Daisy hit the gas and just stayed off the brakes. About three miles out of town she finally managed to get right up on Buddy’s tail and started flashing her high beams at him. He must have recognized her green Ford truck because he slowed down just enough for her to pull alongside. June pulled the shotgun back inside the cab and stuck her head out.

  “Buddy, it’s us! It’s me, June!” she shouted and she sa
w his pale face at the window looking over at them. There was blood on Buddy’s face and down his front. A lot of it.

  “What do you want?” he screamed above the wind. “I’m running a little late!”

  “We got a FedEx package to go out!” June yelled. “Needs to be in tonight’s shipment. Extremely urgent!”

  “Tell him it’s a matter of national security,” Daisy said.

  “A matter of national security, Buddy!”

  He nodded that he understood.

  “Hand her on over,” Buddy cried back. “I’ll slow up.”

  “Hold on a second,” June said, and turning to Daisy, “Slow down a little, will you please? And don’t swerve so much.”

  Buddy decelerated to about fifty. Daisy matched his speed and eased her truck over till they were just neck and neck about three feet apart. She tried to maintain that exact separation but they were on a winding road and it was a whole lot harder than in looked in the movies.

  “How’s this?” Daisy said.

  “Pony Express?” June grinned at her, putting the gun between her knees and grabbing the FedEx envelope off the seat.

  “Exactly.”

  “Here you go, Buddy!” June said, extending her arm to the FedEx driver.

  Buddy reached out and grabbed hold of the envelope in June’s hand.

  “Got it?” June asked him before she let go.

  “Got it!” Buddy yelled, pulling it inside. “Yessum, I’ll make sure she goes out tonight! Guaranteed.”

  “Good! Are you hurt too bad?”

  “No, ma’am. Just a scratch I believe.”

  “Buddy, you get yourself over to Southwest Medical and have somebody stitch you up, okay?”

  “Yessum, soon as I get my mail here delivered. Y’all have a good evening now!”

  “G’night!”

  June sat back and pushed her hair out of her eyes and they watched the little FedEx truck roar away and disappear over a hill.

  “Well, that was fun,” June said, smiling over at Daisy. “Are the Mexicans still on our tail?”