The Alex Cave Series. Books 1, 2, & 3.: Box set

by James M. Corkill

  “Calm down, Mom! They don’t have him. He came here to join them. He’s probably going to join us later, so try and calm down.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe he’ll be . . .”

  “Just think a moment, Mom! Mark was invited. He’s just going to set things up for us. It’s just that we have to park someplace first, that’s all.”

  Calli realized Pamela was probably right, but her sense of fear remained. She was upset with the whole situation, but sat in a chair, nervously wringing her hands in her lap while she awaited the outcome.

  Monroe turned onto the side road and saw four massive tents, two on each side of the road. Just past the tents were two large bonfires, with perhaps a dozen men, women, and children standing or sitting around them, all in civilian clothes. As he drove past, he saw at least fifty smaller tents in a wide variety of styles and sizes. More civilians were mulling around the tents or sitting beside the road, watching him drive past. No one smiled or waved, and the looks he received were more suspicious than curious.

  Harold didn’t like the look in their eyes. It reminded him of the hungry looks in the eyes of animals he’d seen on Wild Kingdom. He was beginning to think it was a bad idea to come here. He thought they would have been welcomed with smiles and open arms, not guns at the gate and looks of mistrust.

  Past the tents was another thirty-feet of trees, then the area opened up into a huge clearing, filled with rows of trailers and recreational vehicles. Some had people sitting out front in chairs, and most of them looked up suspiciously, as he passed. Monroe waved, and received a couple of nods in return. The last RV in line was a beautiful forty-foot long Road Master, complete with a satellite dish on the roof, but there was nobody outside.

  There wasn’t much room at the end of the clearing, only enough for three or four more trailers or RV’s. Monroe stopped and climbed out to assess where he wanted to park. Harold also climbed out and walked around to Monroe and, a moment later, Calli and Pamela joined them.

  “I don’t like this at all!” Calli moaned.

  Harold started to say he agreed, but Monroe interrupted.

  “I’ve been taking this trailer to different RV camps all over the states. It’s always this way when you first arrive. People got to get to know you first, that’s all.”

  The door on the Road Master suddenly opened and the man who stepped out instantly caught their attention. It wasn’t so much his huge belly and bald head, but the bright florescent green pantsuit he wore. He waved, smiled congenially, and waddled over to them. “Welcome!” he beamed and extended his hand. “My name’s Chuck Berry. No relation to the guitar player, unless my great granddaddy did something he shouldn’t have. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!” he laughed loud and robustly.

  Pamela giggled, and thought the man’s laugh was as funny as his clothes. Monroe accepted his hand and introduced everyone.

  “Well, you’re welcome to park next to us,” Berry offered. “It’s pretty level, and the Colonel says everyone should stay in line.”

  Monroe and the Woolly’s were vastly relieved by Berry’s open hospitality. Berry stayed with the Woolly’s as Monroe climbed into his truck and began maneuvering the trailer into place.

  “So, where are you folks from?” Berry asked, keeping up the friendly chatter.

  “Just outside Seattle, Washington,” Harold answered.

  “We’re from the Bay Area,” Berry told them. “Down near San Francisco. We were visiting my daughter in Utah when all this happened.”

  Calli noticed the sad look in Berry’s eyes for a moment, and then he smiled again.

  “Just got to take everything in stride, I always say.”

  Harold nodded toward the tents at the opposite end. “Nobody seems to be very happy here. Except you, I mean.”

  Berry turned and looked for a moment. “Well, I can’t really blame them. Most of them walked here with just what they could carry. They’re a little envious, that’s all. No, I don’t blame them a bit, having to sleep on the ground and all.” Berry smiled. “Shucks! It would kill a fat man like me. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA!”

  This time, all the Woollys smiled.

  Monroe had the trailer in place, unhooked the truck, and spent a few more minutes getting it leveled and supported on jack stands. “That’s it,” he said as he approached.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood,” Berry said and smiled. “Let me get my wife out here to meet you. Hey Joyce!” he bellowed. “Come meet our neighbors.”

  They all watched as the door on the Road Master opened. A blond woman stepped out, and both Harold and Monroe’s jaws dropped open. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, and could have stepped off the cover of a fashion model magazine. Calli unconsciously patted her dirty hair, but Pamela just gawked.

  Berry saw their looks. “She’s something else, isn’t she?” Berry loved the reaction Joyce had from people, especially men. “I bet you’re wondering why such a goddess would marry someone like me, right?” Berry watched the Woollys and Monroe looking at him, and smiled. “Money, pure and simple. HA, HA, HA, HA, HA! See, I made my fortune selling explosives. Everything you could imagine. Made several million and retired this spring.”

  Joyce walked over to them while Berry introduced her, and Joyce smiled a gorgeous smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a voice sounding like fingernails across a blackboard.

  Berry saw the slight grimace from his new neighbors. “You get used to it after a while,” he told them. He looked at them conspiratorially. “I didn’t turn all my booze over to the soldiers. Let’s step into my rig and have a drink.”

  Monroe nodded, and Harold and Calli exchanged looks. “I’d like that,” Harold told him, receiving a venomous look from Calli.

  Calli looked at Berry. “Pamela and I will pass, but thank you anyway.” Calli stomped across to Monroe’s trailer, and Pamela shrugged and followed.

  Joyce walked toward the Road Master, and the men tagged along behind. “So what’s it like here?” Monroe asked.

  “So far, not too bad, but we’ve only been here a few days. Oh, they have rules. No one is to have any firearms or liquor, and you have to turn all your food over to them to be rationed out. But basically it’s a good place for protection, with things being the way they are outside the camp.”

  Monroe nodded. “We were stopped outside Spokane. They had the same rules.”

  They entered the Road Master, Berry offered them chairs in the living area, and told them all he could offer was bourbon and mixers. Joyce took their requests and expertly mixed the drinks. She passed them around, and then sat across from Monroe and Harold. Both men had a hard time trying to keep from staring at her. Berry noticed, and merely grinned. “Have any trouble getting here?”

  “Just getting past Spokane,” Monroe told him. “How about you?” Berry’s face became a mask of sadness, and Monroe regretted asking.

  “We didn’t until we left Utah with my daughter. We were ambushed passing through a little pissant town.” Berry pointed at a blown out piece of paneling in the wall to the left and behind where Harold was sitting. On the floor was a dark brown stain. Berry’s eyes suddenly filled with moisture. “The bullet hit my daughter in the chest.” His lips trembled as tears ran down his cheeks. “She didn’t suffer, thank the Lord. Oh, God I miss her!” Berry released a sob, and Joyce put her arm around his shoulders to try to comfort him. He buried his face against her chest, and she rocked him soothingly for a few moments. He finally straightened and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. “We, ah . . .” Berry swallowed hard. “We were trying to find a place to bury her when we met a convoy of grocery trucks. I flagged them down, thinking they must be headed for a city with sane people in it. It turned out they were soldiers from here at the AOS camp. The head honcho ordered his men to help me bury my daughter, and offered to let us come here.” Berry was quiet for a few moments. “So how did you folks end up here?”

  Harold and Monroe explained what had happened since
Harold left Seattle.

  *

  The soldier led Mark across the parade grounds and up the steps to Blackwood’s cabin. He knocked on the door, and when it opened, Colonel Blackwood looked down at Mark with an appraising stare.

  Mark’s mind went blank with the thrill of actually meeting the man on the brochure, something he had been anticipating since they joined Monroe and decided to come here. He regained his composure and snapped to attention. “Mark Woolly reporting for duty, Sir.” When Blackwood smiled, Mark was elated.

  “Come in, Private Woolly,” said Blackwood, and stepped aside.

  Mark saluted and entered the cabin. He saw John Everex sitting near a desk, and again stood at attention.

  Everex grinned and extended his hand to Mark. “At ease, soldier.”

  Mark smiled and grabbed Everex’s hand. “Boy, I’m glad to be here! I didn’t think we’d ever make it. Do I get a uniform? And a gun?”

  Everex grinned. “A uniform and a gun? Not yet. You need to prove yourself worthy, first.”

  Mark looked at him curiously. Worthy? This was his dream, his reason for living! How could they not think him worthy? He’d simply die if they didn’t find him worthy. “What do I need to do?”

  Everex saw the look of disappointment and knew he could count on Mark. “First, tell me about the people you came here with. How they feel about coming here. What supplies they brought. How many weapons, any liquor and how much, and what you saw on your way here.”

  Mark smiled with relief and gladly told them everything they wanted to know. When he explained what had happened when they tried to enter Spokane, Everex and Blackwood exchanged troubled looks.

  “How many men did you see guarding the highway?”

  “Half a dozen that I could see. Maybe more in the tanks and Humvees.”

  Again, Everex and Blackwood exchanged looks. They knew there was an Air Force base, but didn’t realize the city was so organized. Now they would have to make plans in case the government decided to expand their realm of control.

  “Well, Mark,” Everex smiled. “So far, you’re doing great. I think you deserve a uniform, to start with.” Everex stood and walked Mark to the door. They stepped out onto the porch and Everex spoke to the soldier who had escorted Mark to the cabin. “Take Private Woolly to the gear issue building and fix him up with a uniform.” The soldier nodded, and Everex looked at Mark. “My brother, Brian, is here.”

  Mark grinned from ear to ear. This was great, he thought. He’d been accepted into the AOS, and his best friend was here too! How could things possibly get any better? “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down. I’ll be the best soldier in camp.”

  “I know you will, Private.” Everex turned to the soldier. “When he’s in uniform, find my brother and escort him and Private Woolly to his parents. You know what to do.”

  The soldier nodded and Everex stepped back into the cabin and closed the door. He looked at Blackwood, sitting at the desk. “Spokane could give us trouble.”

  “I agree. Got any ideas?”

  Everex nodded. “I’ll send some scouts to assess the situation. We’ll make some decisions when they return.” Blackwood nodded, and Everex left the cabin.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  WASHINGTON, D.C:

  After a long flight from Seattle, Alex entered the National Security Director’s office in the White House. When he saw Martin Donner talking on the phone, he sat in a chair in front of the desk and waited.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Martin said into the phone. “I understand, sir. Yes, sir. Mr. Cave just walked in. I’ll call you back.”

  Martin hung up and looked across the desk at Alex. “More oil was stolen from one of the refineries on the East Coast, and OPEC refuses to send any of their oil. The President is ordering a permanent national rationing program. Not just gasoline, but all petroleum products. We’ll have to rely on our national reserves until we stop this hijacking.”

  Alex slowly stood and walked to the window. Martin rotated his chair and stared at Alex’s back. “What is it, Alex?”

  Alex continued to stare out the window. “I’m not sure, really. I have a feeling we may not be able to stop what’s happening,” he said solemnly. “What would you think if I told you the crude oil was not being stolen, but changed into something else?”

  Martin chuckled. “You’re kidding, of course.” Alex turned to face him, but the look on his face said he wasn’t. “Good, God!” he mumbled softly.

  “We watched it happen to another tanker, and to the Scorpio. That’s why we abandoned ship.” Alex told him about the two men fighting on Scorpio’s deck. “They just dissolved into nothing. It looked like the light coming out of the cargo hold incinerated them. Later, when we were in the rafts, we saw billions of crystals like the one Christa found, flow out of the holds and over the sides of the ship. We managed to get back on the Scorpio, and a short time later, the submarine arrived. They informed us the other tanker had capsized in the storm. We searched for the crew, but couldn’t find a single person.”

  “The West Coast is in chaos.”

  Alex nodded. “And we still don’t know who’s behind this.”

  “The Navy is putting its own people on one of the last tankers at Cook Inlet. Vetted crew only, and a Seal team. They’re going to try and get it to a refinery in Washington.”

  Alex nodded and stood. “No sense me hanging around here, Martin. I’ll be in Montana. Let me know if you learn anything.”

  The phone rang and Martin answered. He listened to the caller as Alex moved toward the door. “Hold on a minute, Alex!” he called.

  Alex turned, listening to Martin’s side of the conversation. Martin hung up and stared at him. “Better stick around for a few minutes. The FBI is sending a man over with some important information about the oil.”

  Alex nodded and walked to the window. This new information might be helpful, he thought as he stared down at the lawn and gardens behind the White House. He heard a knock on the door and turned from the window as a burly man entered the office.

  “I’m Bill Pickowski,” the man said as he stepped in and closed the door.

  Martin indicated the chair in front of the desk. Pickowski nodded and sat. “What have you discovered, Mr. Pickowski?” he asked.

  “I know who is stealing the oil.” Pickowski explained everything he knew and about the events that took place in the Colorado meadow. “Menno Simons hypnotized hundreds of people at a time. I was even under his spell for a while. It was the most amazing thing I ever saw. It was like a scene out of a movie. Menno somehow produced a bright light, high in the sky. I thought it was the moon at first, but after thinking about it, I realized it wasn’t.”

  Alex snapped his head toward Pickowski as he remembered the moon he saw after the tanker incident.

  “You say you have one of the ampoules?” Martin asked.

  Pickowski nodded, reached into his coat pocket, and handed the two-inch long ampoule to Martin. “The people in the white robes handed out thousands of these things.”

  Martin studied the colored granules inside, and then handed it to Alex. Alex held it up to the light from the window and stared for a moment. It appeared as if the crystals were moving. He spun toward Martin. “I’d like to get this back to the university immediately. We’ll see if there’s a connection between this and the information Christa has learned from the crystal she found on the tanker.”

  Martin nodded. “Keep me informed.”

  Alex left the room, and as he entered the parking area below the White House, his assigned driver informed him they would have to use the alternate exit because crowds of protestors were blocking the streets around the Capitol. They drove down a long tunnel for several minutes and exited four miles away. As they approached Washington International Airport, the traffic began to slow, and when they were within a mile of the terminal, the traffic ground to a standstill.

  “Let’s turn around and go back,” Alex told the driv
er.

  The driver looked out the side window and rearview mirror and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cave, but we’re blocked in.”

  “Okay. I’ll walk the rest of the way to the air terminal.”

  The driver opened the trunk and handed Alex his bag, and Alex began walking beside the bumper-to-bumper traffic as he tried to figure out why it was so congested. When he reached the terminal, he found hundreds of people lined up outside the doors, and airport security police standing at each entrance to keep them out of the terminal.

  Alex approached one of the officers. “What’s going on?”

  “Ain’t you been listening to the news, mister?” the officer asked in a condescending tone. “The rationing started this morning and the airlines are cutting a lot of their flights. You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else.”

  “It’s very important that I catch the next flight to Montana,” Alex insisted.

  The officer laughed. “You and everyone else out here.”

  “Look, you don’t understand. I have to . . .”

  “You’ll wait like everyone else!” the officer interrupted acidly.

  Alex retrieved the government ID from his coat pocket and showed it to the officer. “I want to talk to your supervisor,” he told him and pointed to the portable radio clipped to the officer’s belt. “Call him!”

  The officer started to protest until he saw the fire in Alex’s eyes, and grudgingly spoke into the radio. When the supervisor arrived, Alex showed him his ID and handed him a piece of paper. “Call that number and ask about me,” Alex told him. “I’ll wait.”

  The supervisor stared at Alex for a moment before stepping away, and then dialed the number. When he returned, he looked at the guard. “Let him through, George. Follow me, Mr. Cave.”