The Arizona State Guard Trilogy

by Jeffrey M. Fortney

  Mitchell dimmed the lights while Dixon fired up his projection system. First, the ASGuard troopers and CBII agent looked at the images taken by the Black Hawk's camera system. Those images showed the rugged, dirt road leading from U.S. Highway 93 to the Omega Mining compound. They were able to see several buildings, a variety of vehicles and other equipment, and the opening to the mine but only a few personnel were visible moving about the compound.

  Templeton squinted at the projection and asked, "What's that east of the compound and up the hill aways?"

  Dixon enlarged and adjusted the image to focus on the area that Templeton asked about. "Looks like some kind of air strip. Mitchell, do we have the satellite imagery yet?"

  "Yes sir!" Mitchell answered, punching some buttons on the systems keyboard. Several images appeared. Mitchell selected one and began to zoom in on the region where the compound was located. The image cleared and a long, dirt air strip was clearing visible.

  "How recent is this image?" asked Marcus. "The compound isn't as built up."

  Mitchell checked the image's meta data. "That was from two years ago. There should be more recent images in this data dump. Ah! Here's one!" Another image was projected and Mitchell zoomed in again. "This one's from a couple of weeks ago."

  Everyone took a moment to look over the new image carefully. Dixon used a laser pointer and used it to mark three spots on the image. "What are these? Can you zoom in closer?" Mitchell complied. To one side of the air strip, the three blurred shapes sharpened. Each produced a long shadow crossed at right angles by two other shadows; one long located about a third of the way back from one end of the first line and the shorter one at the end of the first line.

  "What in the world are those?" asked Dixon.

  "Aircraft!" said Marcus and Caldwell simultaneously.

  "Damned if you're not right!" said Dixon. "How many?"

  "Well, there's these three and I think there's another one over here!" responded Templeton, pointing to another shadow similar to the others. "Major, you said that image is a couple of weeks old. Do you have one that's newer?"

  "Yes, sergeant major," replied Mitchell, "here you are!" Another image appeared and Mitchell enlarged the air strip area.

  Marcus borrowed the laser pointer from Dixon and used it to mark three additional shadowy areas. "Look, here's three more! A total of seven aircraft."

  "What's with the distortion or haze covering them?" Caldwell asked.

  "Camouflage netting," said Templeton, "the satellite camera probably took images in multiple spectra and is catching some of the infra-red in the mix. The metal of the aircraft fuselage and wings are hotter than the background. Major, how old is this picture?"

  Mitchell checked the time hack in the image's meta data and answered, "Yesterday afternoon!"

  Caldwell pointed to eight posts set in pairs of two, each set well apart from the others and to the west of the airstrip. What appeared to be a large crate sat next to one pole in each set. "What do you think these posts are for? And I wonder what's inside these crates?" asked Caldwell. He looked about the room but received no answers from anyone. "We should put those on the list of things to check out!" Marcus nodded.

  SGM Templeton pointed to something that appeared to be built into a hillside to the northwest of the airstrip. At his request, Major Mitchell zoomed in on the formation which appeared to be constructed of old railroad ties laid on top one another across the face of the hillside then angling outward for about ten feet on both end. Templeton then pointed to a group of ten figures lined up about 100 feet from the structure. Two larger groups stood behind the first as if waiting their turn. The grizzled old NCO grunted then said, "It's a rifle range. Those guys are practicing their marksmanship."

  "Well, now we know they're armed. Probably more than just their security guards, too," Caldwell added.

  LTC Marcus Roman asked, "Is there any indication of high tech observation or security systems operating at the compound? Have they rigged any kind of active or passive personnel detection around their perimeter?"

  CBII Special Agent Caldwell spoke up before Mitchell could answer. "Any 'low tech' guard systems...you know...dogs...detected?"

  Major Mitchell answered Roman first then Caldwell. "No sign of any electromagnetic sensor systems active around the compound, colonel. And no, Mr. Caldwell, there are no dogs...but of course, if these are devout Muslims, they wouldn't have dogs now, would they?" Caldwell gave Mitchell a dirty look.

  "What else do we know about this compound?" asked Dixon.

  Mitchell brought up a slide on the projection. "Omega Mining Corporation...a privately owned mining firm...sole proprietor is Abdul Aziz Mohammed Al Zahrani, a Saudi multi-billionaire. Purchased the mine and the land out to five miles around the compound three years ago... updated the compound and reopened the mine two years ago. Since then, they've brought in over 250 personnel to work on the mine. At least, that's what they claim. They reopened the main shaft...here...then opened a new shaft over here on the northern part of the compound. Lots of new activity at the new shaft at first, then it tapered off. They began producing small amounts of gold and silver earlier this year and plan to expand operations further this Fall. They brought a lot of equipment in from Phoenix initially but have the vast majority of their supplies shipped to a distributer in Kingman."

  "Whoa, whoa...there's something not right here," said Dixon. "Do you have any images from just before they started operating? Then more recent ones leading up to the most current?" Mitchell's fingers danced across the keyboard and the projection widened and a series of satellite images of the mining compound appeared. They started with the oldest and advanced slowly in sequence to more recent images. Everyone in the room carefully examined each image. After a few minutes, Dixon asked the others, "You folks see that?"

  Sergeant Major Templeton took the bait. "Tailings! When they started Shaft B there were plenty of tailings, then they tapered off. Now, there are no new tailings! If they are really mining, they'd run their ore through the processing plant over here in this corner of the compound. Oh, they're running something...maybe they're recycling the same old tailings repeatedly. But there are no new tailings piles. So they're up to something else at the Omega Mine."

  "Exactly!" replied Dixon. "But just what are they up to?"

  "Well, we need to do some digging of our own...of a slightly different sort!" Marcus said. "What's the name of the distribution company they use for their supplies?"

  Mitchell pulled up the data in another projection. "Uh... Johnson & Son Distributors, their warehouse is located on Olympic Way out near Kingman Airport."

  Marcus spun to look directly at Major Mitchell. "Johnson? As in...Dave Johnson?"

  "Uh...yes sir! The primary owner is Dave Johnson," replied the major looking closely at the data displayed in the projection.

  Templeton, Marcus, and Caldwell shared a knowing glance before Marcus Roman responded. "The same Dave Johnson who apparently had a radioactive watch in his pocket at one time which gave him radiation burns!"

  ***

  Forty-three minutes later, Marcus, Templeton, and Caldwell walked into Kingman's largest hospital. At the information desk, Marcus asked for Doctor Clark Turner. The receptionist asked the trio if they could wait a moment then punched in a call code into the desk's telephone system. The old woman spoke softly, nodded, and thanked the person on the other end.

  "Doctor Turner will be with you in a few minutes," she said to Marcus. He thanked her and waved Templeton and Caldwell over to a small waiting area. They were only seated a moment when an older, black gentleman with gray hair and wearing surgical scrubs stepped from an elevator. He walked over to the waiting area and said, "Mr. Roman? I'm Clark Turner!"

  Marcus rose and clasped the doctor's outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir! And thank you for seeing us so quickly. May I introduce Aaron Templeton and Phillip Caldwell." The doctor smiled at the other two men and shook their hands.

  "Plea
se follow me, gentlemen," said Turner. He paused for a moment at the information desk to ask for and receive three visitors badges from one of the receptionists. He handed them to his guests and guided them to the elevator. Once inside and with the doors closed, the doctor asked, "So tell me, colonel, how an old country doctor like me can help the Arizona State Guard?"

  Marcus smiled and answered, "Well sir, your police chief and I are old friends. Josh sent me the images of the radioactive wrist watch taken from one of your patients...Dave Johnson. We're investigating a connection between that watch and a group operating a mine in the region. We hope Mr. Johnson can answer some questions for us...or put us in touch with someone who can."

  Turner nodded as the elevator slowed to a stop. "I checked on Dave just before you arrived. He's going make it but it's going take a while. He's conscious and alert enough to answer a few questions. Just don't take too long. Dave's pretty weak and I don't want you to wear him out, okay?"

  "We'll be careful not to harm your patient, doctor," responded LTC Roman politely.

  Doctor Turner escorted Marcus and company to Johnson's new hospital room. The head of Johnson's hospital bed was elevated enough to allow him to be in a reclining position. The man's face was pale from loss of blood and his overall weakened condition, but he appeared to be alert.

  Doctor Turner introduced Marcus, Templeton, and Caldwell to Johnson then stepped over to one corner of the room to allow the visitors to speak semi-privately with his patient and yet still allow him to monitor his patient's condition.

  Marcus stepped closer to Johnson's bedside and set a small digital voice recorder on the over bed table which already held a water pitcher and glass. "Mr. Johnson, where did first see this watch?" he asked, holding out a photo of the watch in question.

  "I noticed it when I met one of the new guys from Omega Mining the other day. He was driving the mine's supply truck and was wearing the watch," answered Johnson.

  "Was he by himself or with someone else?"

  "Oh, the mine foreman always comes into town with a driver to pick up the supplies."

  "Do you know the names of the two men?" asked Caldwell.

  Johnson responded, "The foreman's name is Al-Fakeeh...Mustafa Al-Fakeeh. The driver was a young guy. His name was...Rafi or Rafir...Azwar something. He was new. Never saw him before."

  "Does Al-Fakeeh come to your warehouse often?"

  "Oh, once or twice a week," answered Johnson. "Depends on the supplies that are shipped in for the mine. Every so often, we get a large number of lubricant drums...55-gallon drum...shipped up from L.A. by rail...and I have to call out to the mine compound to let them know they're in."

  "Any high explosives or blasting agents?"

  "Oh...no, sir!" Johnson said adamantly. "We don't mess with that stuff. Too many headaches. They must get those through another distributor...there are a couple in town."

  "So, you say the younger man was wearing the watch when you first met him," asked Caldwell.

  "Yes...I thought it was a pretty sharp looking watch...kinda expensive for a young man like that. Wouldn't mind having one like it myself...just not that one!" replied Johnson. "He opened up the truck, helped with loading, Al-Fakeeh said goodbye, and they drove off."

  "And how did you get the watch then, Mr. Johnson?" Marcus asked.

  Johnson nodded before answering. "I noticed they slowed down for a moment in the middle of the yard then drove off. Later, one of my employees came up to me and said he found the watch out in the yard. It must have fallen off of the young fellow's wrist as he was driving. I recognized it and put it in my pocket to give to that Rafi kid the next time he came to town."

  Templeton leaned forward and asked, "Do you know if your employee has reported any problems from touching the watch?"

  Before Johnson could answer the room to hospital room opened and Chief Josh Kincaid of the Kingman Police Department stepped into the room. "So, Marcus, you still running away from home?" He smiled at the young ASGuard officer then extended his right hand. Marcus hung his head for a moment before looking back up and flashing a wide grin at his friend.

  Marcus left Johnson's bedside and stepped over to his old friend and took his hand. "Hey, Josh...great to see you! How are Betty and the kids?" The two men shared a quick bear hug.

  "They're just great! They'd love to see you and your family again soon...once this mess is over with," Kincaid said. He nodded to Doctor Turner and Dave Johnson then turned to look at Templeton and Caldwell.

  "I'm sorry, Josh...let me introduce my top NCO, Sergeant Major Aaron Templeton and CBII Special Agent Phillip Caldwell," said Marcus. "Temp, Caldwell...this is Joshua Kincaid, U.S. Army Military Police, retired." Another round of greetings and handshakes were made.

  Kincaid then said, "I heard your question as I entered. Mr. Johnson's employee, Alan Toohey, came in when we contacted him. He was examined by the Doc Turner and the hospital's Radiology Department and they say he had an extremely minor exposure to the radiation from the watch. Seems Toohey was leaving early and likes to wash up a bit before going home. He must have picked up the watch, given it to Johnson, then gone straight to the workers' locker room and washed his hands. Would you like to talk with him? If not, I can get you a copy of his statement."

  Caldwell merely nodded so Marcus did as well. "We'll take the statement for now," said Marcus. Turning back to the patient, "Mr. Johnson, you had the watch in your pocket for a few days then?"

  "Yes," Johnson said, "or on my dresser at home. I didn't want to leave it lying around where someone could pick it up. And that way, I'd have it on me when Al-Fakeeh and Rafi came back."

  Doctor Turner stepped over at that point. "The radiation burned his skin, damaged the underlying tissues, weakening a large blood vessel. Dave said he barked his thigh on the corner of his desk and quickly discovered some serious internal bleeding at the site." Turner paused to give his patient a scathing glare, "He should have called for an ambulance instead of driving himself in. Still, he got here safely and we began treatment. Upon discovering the severity of the bleeding, I had him moved to surgery and operated. Once I had the bleeder stabilized, I examined the damaged tissues at the site and took samples and sent them to the lab for analysis."

  "And the rest you know from my email to you, Marcus," Kincaid finished the story. "We've contacted everyone Johnson and Toohey came in contact with. They've been checked out and cleared. Contaminated areas have been examined and deconned. And, putting two and two together...I thought it best to alert the Arizona State Guard about the situation."

  "And, here we are," said Marcus.

  Caldwell cleared his throat. "Doctor...Chief, the CBII will be sending someone to pick up the watch and take it to our labs in Phoenix for further examination."

  "Good," said Doctor Turner, "our Radiology techs will be glad to be rid of it. You'll probably want Dave's clothes, watch, and so on, as well...right?" Turner started checking Johnson's vital signs.

  "Yes sir, we will." Caldwell affirmed.

  When Marcus asked Johnson if he could describe Al-Fakeeh and his young driver, Doctor Turner cleared his throat and turned a wary eye upon the ASGuard officer.

  "That's Doc's oh-so-sweet way of telling you his patient is wore out and he'd like us to let him rest awhile," said Chief Kincaid. "The good news is: I have a detailed descriptions from Mr. Johnson already and will gladly share my files with you! There's an office just down the hall that is usually open. I've got my tablet and the data that I can transfer to you right now, if you like?" Kincaid opened the door then followed the others out into the hall. Once there, he led them to an empty office and invited them to sit down.

  CBII Special Agent Caldwell drew a secured tablet from a pouch in his cargo trousers and held it up for Chief Kincaid's approval before proceeding. Once Kincaid nodded his assent, Caldwell set his tablet on the table next to Kincaid's. First, the agent ran a security scan of the police officer's tablet. When the scan came back clean, Caldwell nodded to Kinc
aid and the chief told his tablet to send its data on Dave Johnson and the radioactive watch to Caldwell's table via direct infra-red beam. The transfer was completed in just a few minutes. Police Chief Joshua Kincaid then provided Marcus, Templeton, and Caldwell with a concise overview of the data he'd just given them.

  The two ASGuard and lone CBII agent asked the chief a few questions then decided they'd gathered as much information as they could at that time. They thanked Kincaid and Doctor Turner, who had just joined them, then took their leave. Fifty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the headquarters building of the ASGuard's Kingman Station.

  ***

  June 25th

  Omega Mining Compound

  Northwestern, AZ

  Mustafa Al-Fakeeh stood stoically before the desk of Asim Abdul Aziz Mohammed Al Zahrani. The dressing down he had just received was embarrassing but no more than he deserved. Somehow that son of a pig, Rafiq ,had gotten his watch covered with the radioactive liquids he and his fellow jihadists were transferring from their disguised shipping containers and into the rolling tanks. Then the son of a dog had lost the watch...seemingly outside the compound.

  The first event had resulted in the death of Rafiq at Al Zahrani's hand, eliminating the need for Mustafa to do the job. The second had further angered Al Zahrani and made Mustafa the recipient of that anger. Mustafa held his eyes on Al Zahrani's determined to accept whatever fate the leader wished to mete out.

  "Mustafa...Mustafa," Al Zahrani said, "I am sorely disappointed in you. But...I must shoulder some of the blame in this affair myself. It was I who accepted Rafiq Aswad at the request of his father, another faithful donor and member of our organization for many years." Since coming to America, Al Zahrani had discovered that many American Muslims did not support jihad, particularly against the United States. After a few disastrous attempts to entice American Muslims to join his organization, Al Zahrani had decided to import his soldiers under the guise of immigrants seeking opportunity in the land of the free. Ah, these American infidels; it is so easy to use their freedoms against them, thought Al Zahrani. Some of their own citizens have brought another civil war upon this country and now my people will administer the killing blow!