by Nobody, Joe
The role of detective would have been easier before everything went to hell. Ballistics analysis, fingerprints, computer crosschecking of statements, and other forensic technologies could prove Bishop’s innocence. But little, if any, of that was available. What high-tech capabilities were in play painted a damning picture of his friend. The drones were all too convenient.
Time was another factor working against Bishop. Despite the lack of internet, email and other communication capabilities, word was spreading of the massacre. Morale was already low, the men and women of the armed forces stretched to the breaking point. Martial law degraded both the civilians and their military keepers, and the last thing any service member needed to hear was a story about their comrades being gunned down in cold blood. If Bishop were spotted, cornered, or captured, it wouldn’t surprise anyone if an “accident” occurred.
Despite his highly motivated quest to clear Bishop’s name, the Colonel found himself lacking a clear path to the objective. Perhaps the rabbit could be flushed from the brush pile.
It was a move born of desperation, and the Colonel knew it. Mr. White was nothing if not a professional – a man skilled in the clandestine arts. More so, he was obviously ruthless and not without resources.
But he’s suffering from the same restrictions and barriers I am, the Colonel thought as he waited for the prey. He’s handicapped by the same lack of communications, transportation, and technology.
Time to see if the rabbit will run.
After a few minutes, the sound of footsteps announced someone approaching. The Colonel stiffened, coiled to confront the man he’d been waiting for.
Indeed, it was Mr. White. There was no mistaking the starched white shirt and monotone tie, accented by plain, black-rimmed eyeglasses. The mysterious man seemed lost in thought as he negotiated the path, completely at ease while surrounded by the security provided by the Secret Service. The Colonel intended to change that.
“What did you do?” he hissed, startling the unsuspecting man as he stepped out of the foliage. “I smell spook shit all over this incident in West Texas,” he continued, taking brisk steps to close with his target.
Mr. White recovered faster than the Colonel expected, the smallest flash of surprise crossing behind his eyes before they returned to normal. The reaction was quickly replaced with guile. “You should be careful jumping out of the bushes, Colonel. People can be edgy… they might misinterpret your actions as an attack and defend themselves. Someone could get hurt.”
“Go for it. Nothing would make me happier,” came the response.
The predators sized each other up, like two competing lions circling a kill.
“You’re out of your league, Colonel,” Mr. White finally warned. “Besides, last time I checked, we were on the same team.”
“I’ve never been on your team, because you and your kind aren’t team players. I’ve watched your type fuck things up from Iran to Columbia. Your calculations are most often flawed, and when those annoying, unintended consequences rear their unwanted heads, you go running to the military to bail your ass out. It’s been my experience that brave, honorable men often die trying to fix your brand of skullduggery.”
Mr. White shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by his accuser’s words. “We have our good and bad days, Colonel. Don’t we all?”
“Yes… yes we do, and I intend on providing you with a very bad day, sir. I’m digging, and digging deep. If I find out you manipulated that massacre in West Texas in any way, shape, or form, I will take matters into my own hands. Your actions will not stand, and the backlash could delay the recovery for years.”
Grunting, Mr. White’s tone indicated he didn’t take the Colonel seriously. “What are you going to do, Colonel, kill me?” The man chuckled, “I’ve had professionals trying to end my life for years. You’ll forgive my genuine lack of concern.”
The Colonel returned the flippant attitude with a condescending smile of his own. “No. Death would be too simple and finite. Exposure is what your kind fears. We used to call your ilk vampires… the light of day is your worst nightmare.”
Spreading his hands, the counter-insurgency expert’s voice carried sarcasm. “So what will you have me do, Colonel? Surrender? Confess? Taste the barrel? I don’t think you know shit, because there’s nothing to know. You’re fishing in a pond where there are no fish. You’re wasting your time… time that I’m sure the president would prefer you spend on more productive projects.”
“I want you to set the record straight with the president. I want to end the persecution of an innocent man. I want this government to conduct itself with honor.”
The smirk returned to Mr. White’s lips, “Innocent man? How ridiculous. There are no innocent men, Colonel. And even if your friend were above reproach, would you truly sacrifice the good of millions over the life of a single man?”
“It’s called liberty. It’s a concept you should read up on sometime.”
Mr. White laughed loudly, seeming to enjoy the statement. Finally, he replied, “I gave you too much credit. You fit the ex-military mold perfectly. Everything is black and white, good or bad.” His voice then became cold and low. “Let me tell you something, Mister Liberty and Honor, when we delayed the Iranian nuclear program without the loss of a single American soldier, no one screamed about liberty. When we turned the Iraqi Al-Qaida leaders against each other and saved thousands of military causalities, no one gave a rat’s ass about honor. My country is hurting, sir. My beloved United States of America is at the brink, and I’ll sacrifice a thousand men to save her.”
“Our country isn’t worth saving if we have to resort to that,” came the reply.
The CIA man’s attitude relaxed, his casual posture indicating the conversation was over. “You should really do a better job of picking your friends, Colonel. I can see associating with mass murderers has tainted your logic,” he closed.
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, and then Mr. White stepped around his antagonist and continued toward his quarters.
Watching him walk away, the Colonel shook his head and whispered. “We will see about that. I have an asset you no longer possess. I still have faith and trust in a few of my fellow humans… something you lost a long time ago, Mr. White.”
Alpha, Texas
July 27
The single Humvee rolled into Alpha’s main square promptly at 7:55 a.m., the representatives of the US government arriving for the scheduled negotiations without fanfare or escort. Tensions were high, as it was the first meeting between the parties since the attack at Midland Station.
General Owens exited the passenger door, a briefcase and bottle of water in his hand. He turned to enter the courthouse and almost ran headlong into Nick.
“General,” the ex-operator greeted, his expression showing resolve.
“Sergeant.”
“General, I’m afraid there’s going to be a delay in the negotiations this morning. An important matter has come to our attention, and we feel it needs to be addressed before any further talks can proceed.”
Owens didn’t like surprises, and his face said so. “What’s this all about, Sergeant? Why did you let us travel all this way if the meeting isn’t to take place?”
“Because I need you to solve the problem, sir.”
Owens’s back stiffened, not sure of the big man’s intent. “Go on.”
“I need you to accompany me, sir. You and you alone.”
“And where might we be going, Sergeant?”
“I don’t want to disclose that until we are on our way. I give you my word you won’t be harmed. We’ll have you back here in Alpha in six hours. You’ll have to trust me, sir. This matter must be addressed before any agreement can be reached.”
The undersecretary joined the two men, “General, is everything all right?”
Owens ignored the question, his gaze boring into Nick’s eyes, trying to make a decision. Finally, he turned to the politician and said, “Yes, everything i
s fine. There’s been a change in plans. I am going to accompany this man on a fact-finding mission. I’ll be back in six hours.”
The man from Interior didn’t like it. “Sir, this is most unusual, shouldn’t we…”
Owens interrupted the protest, “I’m sure our hosts will provide accommodations, Mr. Undersecretary. I’m sure they’ll make you quite comfortable.”
The general’s aide joined in, “Sir, may I suggest that I accompany you on this mission?”
Owens looked at Nick, the big man offering, “This is an extremely sensitive matter, General.”
The staff officer caught the meaning; Nick didn’t trust the other members of the delegation. Turning to the others Owens responded, “Gentlemen, please excuse me for just a moment. I would like to have a word in private.”
When Nick and he were out of earshot, the general said, “Major Berkley has been with me since I joined the 7th Mountain four years ago. I would trust… I have trusted the man with my life.”
“If he sees what I’m going to show you, both of your lives could be in danger. I’ll leave that up to you, General. I don’t care if he comes along.”
A few minutes later, Nick and Moses left Alpha, the two Army officers riding in the back seat of Nick’s crew cab truck. Nick informed Owens of their destination as soon as they left Alpha.
“Why are you taking us there? The Army has already conducted a detailed investigation.”
“We found new evidence,” Nick replied. “Undeniable facts that lead any reasonable man to a very, very dangerous place. I want you to see what we uncovered with your own eyes, and I don’t want anyone else knowing about it.”
Owens was skeptical. “This is all so cloak and dagger for a Green Beret, Sergeant. I’m not sure I follow.”
“You will, sir. You will.”
The four men drove the rest of the trip in near silence. After arriving at the canyon, Nick led the expedition to the base of the south face. Nodding to Moses and then holding up one of the photographs, he said, “We are going to send this man over to the position shown on this image. You can see exactly where the murderer was standing by this tree trunk and oddly shaped rock. Do you agree with his placement, sir?”
Owens glanced back and forth, checking the noted terrain against the photo. “I do,” he concurred.
As Moses moved to the indicated position, Nick and the two officers began climbing to the rim. Again, Nick held up the surveillance photo. “As you can see, General, that tree is blocking the view of our man. If we assume the drone was flying overhead, there’s no way this picture could have been taken from the air.”
The general studied the angle, but wasn’t convinced. “I’ve seen aerial images that were distorted before. I concede that it does look strange, but that’s not proof of anything.”
“I’m not done, sir. Please follow me.”
The three men then climbed down to the ledge where Nick led his guests to the imprint of the tri-pod. Again, Owens was skeptical. “No offense, Sergeant, but you could have made those indentations yourself.”
Nick smiled, “Yes, sir, I could have. But I couldn’t have made this picture myself. Look at Moses.”
Owens sighed, examining the picture and comparing it to the real life scene below. He studied every detail for several moments and then turned abruptly to his aide. “Major, do you see this?”
The younger officer stepped forward and conducted his own comparison. “Sir, this photograph was taken from this position. I can’t speculate what that means, but it is clear to me that this is the exact spot.”
“Thank you, Major. Please, give us a moment.”
“I get it, Sergeant. I’m not stupid. But this doesn’t prove anything. That’s still your man shooting innocents. Why someone was up here with a camera, I have no idea. But that doesn’t change the fact that this Bishop character mowed down my people.”
“It wasn’t Bishop, sir. I believe I can prove that, but I need your help.”
“What makes you say it wasn’t your friend? What evidence do you have of that?”
“Because I believe him, sir. He told me what happened here. He told me why he was here, but swears he didn’t fire a single shot. I know and trust the man, sir. I’ve fought beside him more than once.”
Owens stepped away, peering across the valley. “I have to admit, the presence of the drone bothered me. Yes, we are using the little airborne bastards for everything these days, but I still thought it was odd to have one covering a deployment like this. Now, you’re showing me evidence that it was more than a drone watching the proceedings. Almost like someone was expecting something to happen here that night. I understand the concept of a false flag, Sergeant. What do you want from me?”
“Not much, General. I need transportation and clearance for two men to visit Memphis. We believe the key to this entire mystery can be found there.”
Owens replied, “Why don’t I just send in professional investigators? I could order military experts to reopen the case.”
“Sir, I think that would be a mistake. It is my opinion that whoever ordered this operation was very high in the chain of command. If you make an official fuss, the culprit may disappear down a rabbit hole and take any evidence with him. That’s why I wanted to bring you up here alone – there might be some very powerful people behind this.”
Owens nodded, conceding Nick’s point. “And why do you trust me, Sergeant?”
It was Nick’s turn to gaze off into the distance. “No one condones the meaningless death of Americans, especially soldiers under his command. That’s why I trusted you. I knew you had to be completely in the dark about this.”
The general pondered Nick’s statement for a moment and then said, “So you want transportation and a pass to nose around the Memphis region. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I need you and the major to keep this under your hat for a few days. And, sir, I want your agreement to a ceasefire until I’ve finished in Memphis and report my findings back to you.”
Owens considered Nick’s words. “Deal.”
Texas – New Mexico border
July 27
The diesel pumps had suffered fire damage when the main structure had burned. Fred’s tractor and trailer had added to the inferno, only rust and a skeleton of sheet metal remaining.
He had to scrape away almost two feet of smelly debris before he found the pump’s pipeline leading to the underground tank. The hose had melted away, charred bits of rubber and plastic the only evidence that fuel had once passed through the machine.
He located the valve next, a flow-control unit that would deliver more fuel as the handle was squeezed. Diesel wasn’t nearly as flammable as gasoline, so he wasn’t worried about a spark or fire. Using a screwdriver, he began prying on the heat-weakened opening.
Bishop smiled when the stubborn piece of equipment finally succumbed to his efforts. He could smell diesel fuel. Now to get it out.
The solution was actually quite simple. The locals had a garden hose, currently repurposed as a clothesline. With Cole’s assistance, Bishop inserted the smaller yard-watering tube into the open valve and then created a seal with significant amounts of duct tape. Consolidating the last few inches of rainwater provided a barrel. Bishop inhaled, exhaled, and then sucked hard on the hose.
The first attempt produced nothing but fumes and a few deep coughs. He repeated the process and was rewarded with a mouthful of foul-tasting liquid. Quickly shoving the end of the hose into the barrel, both men stood grinning as they watched the pinkish fuel continue to fill the barrel.
And it continued to flow.
For a while, Bishop thought they were going to need additional containers. When the 50-gallon drum was half-full, Cole scrambled to find anything that would hold fuel. They didn’t want to waste a single drop of the precious resource.
At just over the half-full level, the flow slowed to a trickle and then stopped. Bishop yelled for his host to return, both men standing in awe, staring down a
t the 30 gallons of pure gold they had just mined.
“I can’t believe we’ve been sitting on top of all that fuel for all these months,” Cole finally said.
“We need to get one of those trucks running. How hard is that going to be?” Bishop inquired.
“My tanks have bullet holes, but other than that I know she’ll run. We will need to charge the battery and re-prime the motor, but that should be manageable.”
“We can use the battery off the camper. Can we swap a tank with one of the other tractors?”
“Yup.”
The remainder of the day was spent cursing rusty bolts and old hoses while not having the right sized wrenches. An hour before sundown they finally finished, both men filthy, sweaty and excited over the prospect of solving their problems.
Bishop stood back, watching as Cole climbed into the cab. “This will take a while,” he warned out the open window. “Diesels aren’t like mogas motors.”
And it did.
Twenty minutes later, the engine fired, turned a few cycles, and then died. Cole waited a few moments and then tried again. The Kenworth growled like a big dog, rumbling with power and torque.
Bishop was startled when a chorus of cheers rang out behind him. Turning, he found every citizen of the overpass had gathered to watch the show. He guessed it was the first time they had all smiled in a long time.
He spied Terri walking across the lot, Hunter’s excited eyes engaged with the excitement and activity.
“There’s always hope,” she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss his filthy face.
“Always,” he replied.
Cole maneuvered the huge truck as if he was driving a moped, and soon a chain connected the Kenworth to Bishop’s pickup. Gunning the engine, Cole shifted into reverse and began slowly backing up. When the smaller truck began to move, a horrible scraping noise filled the air. Bishop inhaled deeply, gritting his teeth. It was all over in a few moments, his beloved ride sitting on all four wheels.
