by Dale Brown
Gennadyi Boroshev came strolling up to him a few moments later. “Do you see this?” Gemici shouted. “The Americans are looking at your damned cargo and will be arresting us any second! What the hell have you done? What is in those pumps? Tell me!”
“Relax, Gemici,” Boroshev said, lighting his own cigarette. “You’ll have yourself a heart attack.”
“I will not relax! You had better tell me, dammit!”
“Shut up, you fucking old hen, or I will shut you up permanently,” Boroshev said. A white van without windows drove up to the cargo on the pier, and several men in protective MOPP suits emerged with detectors in hand. Armed officers started appearing, M-16 rifles in hand; Boroshev looked behind him and saw several Coast Guard seamen lining the rails with M-16s drawn as well. “If they find anything, we’re fucked. But they will not find anything.”
One of Gemici’s crew members ran up to the captain. “Sir, the Coast Guard and the harbormaster wish to speak with you.”
“May Allah help me, I am going to be arrested…!”
“If they wanted to arrest you, fool, you’d be in handcuffs by now,” Boroshev said. “Go see what they want. Be cooperative, and stop babbling like a damned monkey.” He didn’t trust Gemici one bit to keep his cool, but it didn’t matter—the more nervous he seemed, the more the damned American customs officers would think they were on the right trail.
“All hands, the smoking lamp is out, waste disposal in progress,” the loudspeaker announcement said. Boroshev stubbed out his cigarette and kicked it over the side. Christ, the air would stink of shit and diesel for the next eight hours, even though offloading the waste would only take one hour.
He wanted to stay and watch Gemici, but he had to act natural in case he himself was being watched, so he left and filled out logbooks in the engine room for several minutes, had a bite to eat, then returned to the rail. It took over an hour of sweating, hand-wringing, gesturing, and pleading from Gemici, and a careful search by the customs investigators, but finally they packed up and departed. “They questioned me about radioactive residue on those pumps!” Gemici said when he returned to Boroshev up on deck. “They said they detected radioactive residue! Those pumps are going to be confiscated!”
“They will hold them until the owner comes looking for them, and then they will have no choice but to release them,” Boroshev said.
“But the residue…!”
“Do not concern yourself over ‘residue,’ Captain—they can’t arrest anyone for ‘residue,’ ” Boroshev said. “There are dozens of good reasons why large machinery parts like that would trigger radioactive detectors, and they know it.”
“But…he said radioactive residue…!”
“You old fool, shut your mouth and go about your business!” Boroshev snapped. “Your job here is done. You have been paid for your work—now get out of my face.”
Boroshev tried to look calm and collected, but inwardly he was still nervous. They apparently did detect something, but obviously at levels far below what they needed to confiscate the entire vessel and crew. That meant they had no concrete evidence, which meant so far their operational security was good. He had made it. He’d given himself only one chance in ten of pulling it off, but he’d done it.
The customs officials were now going over each and every piece of machinery being offloaded—it would take several more hours to accomplish, maybe the rest of the day. The Coast Guard vessel Stingray was still off the starboard side, but the crewmen on the rails no longer had their rifles at port arms. Most of the crew of the King Zoser was on the port rail, watching the U.S. Customs Service inspectors and National Guard soldiers doing their work. Almost all other work aboard the cargo ship had come to a halt…
…except for the task of unloading tons of trash, sewage, gray water, and contaminated oil and diesel into a garbage barge that had pulled alongside, which was going on at the stern. Boroshev watched the inspections going on at the bow…but out of the corner of his eye, he was also making sure offloading the ship’s waste was going smoothly as well. There were no uniformed customs officers over there, just contract workers making sure nothing was dumped in the harbor. When that was done and the announcement came that the smoking lamp was lit again, he smiled and lit up another cigarette.
Mission accomplished, he thought happily. Mission accomplished.
Clovis Municipal Airport, New Mexico
That same time
“I’d say we have a major problem here, folks,” Sergeant Major Ray Jefferson said wearily. He had everyone standing out on the ramp beside the Learjet, with Air Force security vehicles surrounding them. The rear cargo hold was open, and Jefferson went back and looked inside, saw the folded CID unit, and shook his head. “I’m going to take extreme pleasure in seeing that all of you spend the next twenty years or so in a federal prison, breaking big rocks into little ones.”
“Sergeant Major, I’m prepared to explain why we’re…”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Major Richter!” Jefferson exploded. “There is no possible explanation on earth for this. You’re absent without leave; you left the base with classified government property without permission; you conspired to use classified government property in an unauthorized manner. That’s only for starters. I’m not a damned lawyer, but I’m pretty sure all of you could grow very old in Leavenworth before you ever see the light of day again.” He took an exasperated breath. “Are you absolutely insane, Richter, or just a damned idiot?”
“Sir, if you’ll allow me to…”
“I said shut your fucking mouth, Major!” Jefferson shouted again. “You have no right to be heard, sir. You have no explanation for any of this, and I’m not going to waste my time and energy listening to whatever nonsense you’ve dreamed up.
“I’m going to give you the courtesy of telling you what’s going to happen to you now, Major,” Jefferson went on. “You will be taken into custody by the Army Criminal Investigation Command. They will take you to Fort Belvoir, where you’ll be booked and formally charged. You will undoubtedly be interrogated by the FBI and CIA as well as the Defense Intelligence Agency. Eventually you’ll be tried and no doubt convicted of dereliction of duty, espionage, conspiracy, leaving your post, absent without leave, trafficking in classified government property, conduct unbecoming, and any other charges we can think of. Dr. Vega, as a military employee in a highly sensitive position in the Army Research Laboratory, and therefore subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, you will face the same charges and specifications and will probably face the same fate.”
“Sergeant Major, just listen to Major Richter for a…” Ariadna began.
“You will shut up now, Vega!” Jefferson shouted.
“That’s uncalled for, Sergeant!” Jason interjected.
“For starters, sir, it’s ‘Sergeant Major’—I earned those stripes on the field of battle, and I better damn well be addressed properly,” Jefferson said angrily, a vein impressively standing out on his forehead now. “Now, did you just back-talk me…?”
“I said, talking to Dr. Vega like that is uncalled for, Sergeant Major,” Jason said. “As her immediate supervisor, she was following my direction. I’m the one responsible here.”
“You think that’s going to make any difference, Richter?” Jefferson asked incredulously. “You are both going to be put away for a very, very long time. Don’t expect me to be cordial or polite to either of you. You’re criminals, thieves—nothing more, nothing less. There is no explanation, excuse, or defending one another anymore. Enjoy your last night of freedom here, because once we arrive in Virginia, you will be in federal custody probably for the next twenty years, or longer. Fun’s over.” Jefferson looked over at Kristen Skyy and added, “Miss Skyy, your plane and all your equipment will be impounded by the CIC, and you will be taken into custody by FBI agents and…”
“Like hell I will, buster. One phone call and the weight of the world will be dumping on you so fast it’ll make your head spin.”<
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“That’s why you won’t be allowed to make a phone call, Miss Skyy,” Jefferson said matter-of-factly. “You and your crew will be held in federal custody as material witnesses, which means segregated from all other persons and prohibited from contacting anyone until you are formally charged. When that happens will depend on your cooperation in our investigation. As you know, in the current security condition, we have the power to hold you as a material witness indefinitely.”
“I hope you like plenty of media exposure, Sergeant Major,” Kristen said angrily, “because you’re going to be experiencing a shitload of it if you try any of that stuff, I guarantee it. My network knows I’m here; they’re expecting me to check in daily, and if I don’t they’ll call out the dogs looking for me—and the first place they’ll go is to your bosses in the Pentagon and the White House. When they find out you’ve kidnapped me, you’ll be in really deep shit. Your career will be over.”
“We’re way beyond threats here, Miss Skyy—we’re into high-level military espionage and illegal transfer of military secrets,” Jefferson said. “Haven’t you been reading the papers or watching TV? There is no First, Fourth, Fifth, Seventh, and Eighth Amendment protection for spies, terrorists, or conspirators. After 9/11 and Kingman City, the American people will gladly put people like you away for good.” Jefferson’s cellular phone rang; he glanced at the caller ID number, gave Jason a scowl, and walked away to answer it.
Jason saw two Air Force Security Forces men photograph the CID unit inside the Learjet, then carry it out and set it on the ramp. He looked at Ariadna and tapped his wrist, and she looked at him with an “Are you damned sure you want to do this?” expression. “Kristen, how sure are you of your information?” Jason asked.
“Doesn’t matter now anyway…”
“Kristen, I need to know if your information is any good,” Jason said seriously. “We’re risking our careers over this—maybe our lives, if those Security Force guys get too rambunctious here in a moment.”
Kristen’s eyes narrowed fearfully at that remark, darting back and forth between the guards and Jason apprehensively. “Lieutenant Alderico Quintao is one of my best sources in South America,” Kristen insisted. “I’ve known and used him for about three years when I covered terrorist activities in Brazil, even before GAMMA was created; he’s got connections in every nation that shares a border with Brazil; his family is politically connected and wealthy. If he said he knows GAMMA’s whereabouts, I believe him. What difference does that make now?”
“I hope you’re right, Kristen.” He lifted up his sleeve, revealing a large square wristwatch, and pressed several buttons. “We’re about to start a ruckus.”
Suddenly they heard excited voices shouting near the CID unit. They looked over—and saw the CID unit unfolding itself. Jason looked over at Jefferson, but he was still talking on his cell phone, looking out toward the runway with a blank look on his face, a finger in each ear to block out the unidentified noise behind him. Most of the Air Force Security Force officers were armed, but they were too stunned to pull their weapons and just scrambled to stay out of the machine’s way.
“Get the plane loaded up again and ready to fly,” Jason said to Kristen. The CID unit walked straight over to him. “CID One, pilot up,” he said, and the machine assumed the boarding position. In a few moments, Jason was inside, and the robot really came to life.
“What in hell is going on here?” Jefferson thundered. In a flash, Jason stepped over to him, and before Jefferson could react, he was trapped in the robot’s strong mechanical hands. One robotic hand was wrapped around each of Jefferson’s arms, and Jason held him just high enough so he was dangling in mid-air and couldn’t wriggle free. The Security Forces readied their weapons, but didn’t point them at the robot for fear of hitting the Ranger. “Put those damned guns down!” Jefferson shouted to them. To the robot, he yelled, “Is that you in there, Richter? You are in big fucking trouble, asshole! Let me go immediately or I will bust your ass all the way to Antarctica and back!”
“Sergeant Major, as I tried to tell you, I have actionable evidence of the whereabouts of the terrorist group that planned and executed the Kingman City attack,” Jason said, his electronically synthesized voice firm and unwavering. “They’re in Brazil. Kristen Skyy knows where they are, and her confidence in her source is high.”
“Really? And since you’ve spent a few quality hours with Miss Skyy in Clovis, your confidence in her is very high as well, eh?”
Jason told himself that he should not have been so surprised to learn that Jefferson knew about his evening with Kristen. He swallowed hard within his composite armor shell but managed to reply, “Yes, sir, it is,” his embarrassment evident even through CID’s electronic circuitry.
“You sure you’re not thinking with your dick instead of your brain, Richter?”
“I believe Kristen’s information is accurate, sir.”
“Put me down, dammit!”
“We are going to depart with Kristen’s camera crew,” Jason said. “You will tell the Security Forces not to interfere and to authorize our departure.”
“You are not the one giving orders here, Richter…!”
“But I can be, Jefferson,” Jason said. “I will destroy those Security Force vehicles if you give me no other choice.”
Jefferson knew he could do it too—better try to talk him out of this, he thought. “I said put me down, Major,” Jefferson said, a little softer this time. “That’s an order. I will not repeat myself.” Jason paused for a moment, then lowered Jefferson to the hangar floor and released him. “Have you got any fucking idea of what you’re doing, Major? Or is this your idea of how an officer in the U.S. Army is supposed to behave?”
“Sir, if you tell me that you believe that Task Force TALON is everything it appears to be and that it is being managed and supported in the best way possible by everyone involved, then I will gladly step down, turn over all of the CID technology to you and Special Agent DeLaine, and accept any punishment you give me without another word,” Jason said. It was indeed a rather shocking and otherworldly sight to see—a huge three-meter-tall cyborg talking, gesturing, and expressing itself so earnestly and emotionally, resembling some weird alien creature with very humanlike mannerisms.
“Richter, I don’t give a shit about your fears, concerns, or frustrations,” Jefferson said, “and I am not one bit impressed by your admonition or offer of surrender, redemption, or cooperation. I care about only one thing: getting Task Force TALON functioning as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Your job, your duty, is to follow orders and support the efforts of your commanders and superior officers to the absolute best of your abilities, or get the hell out of the way. Now which is it going to be?”
“Sir, just tell me you believe we’re not being played for fools, and I’ll obey your orders to the hilt.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything except obey my orders, now, or find yourself relieved of duty and facing judicial punishment,” Jefferson said. “You had better learn right here and now, mister, that in my command there are no assurances, guarantees, hand-holding, kissy-face, or group hugs—there is only me and everyone else. I give the orders, and you obey them. It’s that simple. What is it going to be, Major?”
The cyborg stood silently for a moment, and Jefferson thought he saw its shoulders droop and its arms go limp, as if in surrender…and then suddenly those huge mechanical arms reached out and grasped Jefferson’s arms in a steel-like grip once again. Jefferson was so surprised at the trap-quick movement that he gasped aloud.
“Put him down, now!” a Security Force officer shouted, his M-16 rifle raised.
Jason turned and with unbelievable speed went over and, with Jefferson still in his hands, lifted one of the Security Force Humvees up with his right foot and overturned it. In another blur of motion he dashed over to a second Security Force officer and simply bumped him, sending him flying onto his back, bruised but unhurt. Just as Jason turned to
ward a second officer, ready to put him down, Jefferson shouted, “All right, all right, stop.” To the other officers he said, “Lower your weapons.” They did as they were ordered. “Happy now, Major? You think you can fight off all of the Air Force Security Forces? Is that how you want to play this?”
“This is how we’re going to play it, Sergeant Major,” Jason said, his electronic voice as firm as the CID unit’s composite structure. “We are going to follow Kristen Skyy’s intelligence and pursue the leads we have. If we find nothing, we will fly back to Washington or Fort Leavenworth or anywhere you wish and turn ourselves in. But I’ve come this far because I believe I’m doing the right thing, and I’m not going to stop now.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with me, asshole: kill me?” Jefferson shouted. He was glad to see Richter wince at the very notion of killing anyone—it was that obvious, even inside the CID unit. “Or maybe you’re going to carry me around like a doll while you chase through the jungle?”
“If I have to, sir, I will,” Jason replied. He turned toward the plane. “Kristen?”
“Fuel truck’s on the way, and the pilot is filing our flight plan as we speak,” she replied. “We’re getting clearance to depart right now—we’ll be ready to go as soon as we’re fueled. What about Sergeant Major Jefferson?”
