A Strange Valley

by Darrell Bain

  She wheeled him back to his room. He took one of the oral pain pills, then eased back into bed to get all the weight off his leg. He sent Lisa off to at least freshen up, then waited. He had almost dozed off again when he heard the door to the hospital room open.

  Tyrone came in, holding his Comphone in one hand and looking grim. When he saw that Daniel was awake he sat down in the chair that Lisa had moved close to the bed.

  Daniel glanced at the clock. Almost noon. “Have they found it yet?”

  “No. Wesley's map either wasn't that accurate or his directions were flawed, or both.”

  “How about the army?”

  “They're spreading out from the area of both passes and refusing to let anyone out. I called the brigade commander. When I finally got his adjutant, I told him there was a dirty bomb in the area and that they should move away from here. He didn't believe me, of course, and wouldn't connect me to the commander. Not that it would have done any good. He wouldn't have believed me, either.”

  “And now that you didn't convince him, if it does go off, we'll get the blame, won't we?”

  “You know it. Listen, I just talked to the doc and I'm sending you back up the mountain. You'll be safer there.”

  “Where will Lisa be?”

  “She'll be right by your side; in fact, she's driving you, and I'll get a nurse to come up a couple of times a week to check on you. Damn, I wish your friend had drawn a more accurate map, or given better directions.”

  “He probably didn't get much of a chance to copy from an atlas.”

  “Yes, and I know how deceptive those old logging roads can be once they've started to grow over. I own some of the land around here and know about them.”

  “Nothing to do but wait, and keep hunting then, I suppose?”

  “That's right. Listen, Wes was starting to wake up again. I'm going back and talk to him again. Maybe I can get better directions. And more names of the ones involved.”

  “Can I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course you can.”

  “Tyrone if you're gong to hide me, I suggest that as soon as Wes can be moved, find a place to tuck him away, too. He's our only witness that we had nothing to do with a damn dirty bomb.”

  “Already thought of it. I've got transportation arranged in case the army starts moving into town and the chief has him well-guarded in the meantime. Is there anything else you can think of to do?”

  Daniel had been worrying the problem over in his mind and had thought of one thing he could try, which might or might not prove effective.

  “I'd like to talk to Shirley if I could. We need someone in the agency besides Wes to help us prove that Phillips is involved.”

  “Shirley? That agent you came here with? Do you think it's wise to contact her?”

  “Well, I don't see where it can hurt. And it might help. She's agency, but I think she's good people. She might be able to ferret out some little secrets that we don't know about if we put it to her that the Director is involved with a dirty bomb, and is apparently ready to set it off here.”

  “All right, call her.”

  “No I need to get away from here to make the call. They know my encryption code and I'm a fugitive, remember?”

  “All right, give me a number where I can reach her and I'll call for you. What do you want to say?”

  Daniel thought it over, then said, “Just tell her that it's a message from Class Pest-that was my ID code while we were here—and that Phillips has been holding the missing uranium himself, along with Wesley and Simmons and several others we don't know about yet; and that he's got the uranium already incorporated into a truck bomb and has sent it to this area. Give her all the background on Simmons and Wesley that we've been able to find out, including a set of fingerprints. Then tell her that she may be the only person who can prevent the bomb from being set off now that Simmons is dead and Wesley incapacitated. Say that I trust her to do the right thing.”

  “All right, got it.” Tyrone tapped his Comphone. “Anything else?”

  “If she will help at all, that's enough. It's all we know to give her, anyway.”

  Daniel turned at the sound of the door opening. Lisa came in, dressed in fresh clothes, jeans and a light windbreaker worn loosely over a button up blouse.

  Lisa held up a bottle of pills. “Sorry I took so long; I had to get these filled at the hospital pharmacy for you. Has Tyrone told you we're leaving?”

  “Yup. Leaving with my favorite girl.”

  She shook a finger at him. “Favorite, hah! Listen to the guy. One night with a spare and I'm just the favorite now, not the only.”

  Daniel glanced at Tyrone to see if he knew. Apparently he did because he winked at him from behind where Lisa was standing.

  “Come on, out of bed now. I want to get back and start nursing you. This ought to be fun.”

  Apparently Daniel had little to say about the matter and didn't care anyway. Two gun battles in two weeks, and he was ready for some rest. If nothing else happened to prevent it. He suspected that something would, though. Shirley was their last best chance, but he wouldn't bet the farm that she would succeed, even if she believed what was going down here when she was told.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Shirley did have a hard time believing, but eventually she decided to give Daniel the benefit of the doubt. Too much had gone on in Masterville while she was there to take a chance on him being wrong, even if it did put her career, and perhaps her life, in danger. And look at what was happening now. The army, the very organization charged with defending the country, assigned to confine citizens to one area and not allow entrance or exit. She thought it must be preparation for even more drastic measures, actions which she knew in her heart weren't necessary. There wasn't anything threatening about those people; it was just Bobby Lee, with his self righteous dogmatism, and belief that he carried a writ from God to turn the country into a religious Mecca for Christianity.

  Once she decided to try to help, she knew that the big question was proof. Without it, Phillips could probably wiggle his way around any accusations. And there was a secondary problem. All phone conversations at agency headquarters were recorded. The call she had received a few minutes ago would be on the record. If she didn't do something before it came to light, then she might be accused of involvement herself! She thought some more and finally came to the conclusion that the only way forward was to bluff, and God help her if the information she had been given was wrong. Or even partially wrong. Either one would be disastrous.

  Decision made, Shirley called Phillips’ office and asked for an appointment as soon as possible, citing a matter of the highest urgency. After being put on hold for several moments, she was told to come upstairs in fifteen minutes.

  She felt her heart beating faster as she made preparations for the meeting and reviewed what she would say and how she would say it to make the encounter turn out her way. She forced herself into a shaky calmness as she twirled the combination lock to her personal safe. She reached in and took out a tiny camcorder concealed in a pendant, made sure that it was working, then fastened it around her neck. It went well with the color of blouse she was wearing and shouldn't be noticed. Next she took a bundle of hundred dollar bills from the safe, part of her emergency contingency funds, and slipped them into the pocket of her suit jacket. Ten thousand dollars in cash would be a great help, because she knew she would have to disappear for a while, even if this worked. If it didn't ... well, she might have to go underground for an extended period, perhaps forever. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was almost time. She took another deep breath, checked her pulse and strode out of her office and past her assistants, telling them she was going to see the boss.

  * * * *

  Phillips looked alert and concerned, but Shirley noted that there were bags under his eyes that normally weren't present. Maybe he was short enough on sleep to allay his normally suspicious nature.

  “Hello, Shirley. Sit down, but let's make
this as short as possible; I have other appointments waiting, so I hope it's as important as you say it is.”

  “It's important all right. Has your office been swept this morning?”

  “Damn right. It's done after every visitor, so don't worry; you aren't being recorded.”

  Shirley knew that was a lie, but continued, trying to present the countenance of a worried, loyal subordinate. “I just got a call from someone named John Simmons. He said that the dirty bomb he's in charge of was in place above Masterville, but he was having problems with it. Mr. Phillips, what is that all about? Do we have a dirty bomb of some sort?”

  The reaction from Phillips was everything she had hoped it would.

  Phillips barely heard her last remarks and exploded before thinking. “What! No wonder he hasn't called me! What kind of problems?”

  “He said someone by the name of Wesley Cannon had tried to foul up the bomb so that it couldn't be used, then disappeared. He's not sure it will go off now.”

  “Oh, Goddamn it. How the fuck could that happen? Wait a minute! Why did he call you?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously, suddenly realizing he had given out more information than he should have.

  Shirley shrugged with what she hoped was a confidential manner. “He told me that he had gotten into a fight with Wesley over using the bomb on those fucking mutants and his phone got broken during the scuffle. He couldn't get through to you, but he knew from the news that I was in charge of dealing with those damned atheists. Listen, if you're planning on using that uranium to clear those creeps out Masterville, I want my piece of Stenning if he's found. He killed one of my friends.”

  Her disparaging remarks about Masterville and Stenning appeared to relax her superior. “We all want that, but there's more important factors than revenge in place here. What else did he say?”

  “Just that he thought he could fix the bomb, but he can't call you. He said if you have any new orders for him, to relay them through me. He said he would check back in tomorrow with me at the same time.”

  Phillips’ face had gradually begun change as he thought of all the implications of what Shirley was telling him. She noticed a vessel on his temple was visibly throbbing. “Of all the fucking times for someone to suddenly develop a conscious, this has to be the worst.” He rubbed his eyes while wondering what to do now. One thing for certain, Bobby Lee would have to be kept in the dark about this screw up. He just hoped nothing had happened to the dead man's switch on the bomb. They weren't ready to use it yet, nor had the final decision even been made. If it went off prematurely, Bobby Lee would sacrifice him rather than share the blame; that was certain.

  “All right, make damn sure you're in your office well before it's time for him to call tomorrow. What time was it?”

  Shirley made a play of looking at her watch. “A half hour ago. Make it two o'clock, give or take a few minutes.”

  “Okay, tell your assistants that we're going to be having a long meeting in your office tomorrow, from 1:30 on. I'll be there to talk to him, myself. And Rostervik? Not a goddamned word of this to anyone, you hear? This is an operation approved at the Presidential level and he's the one who will make all the decisions about that place.”

  “Well, so far as I'm concerned, I think the President is doing the right thing. I hope he either locks all of those mutants up for life, or sterilizes them so they can't have any more little mutants. The country is going in the right direction now and we don't need a bunch of dirty atheists spoiling the landscape and maybe spoiling his chances for re-election.”

  Phillips smiled for the first time since she had entered his office. “That's the girl. I'll mention your name to Bobby Lee; and, if I have my way, you're going to get bumped up a notch on the ladder.”

  Shirley made her face brighten, then become solemn again, as if trying to conceal her elation at the probability that she would be getting promoted again so soon. “Thank you, sir. I just try to do my job as well as I can.”

  “I know, and you've done a good piece of work here today. Go ahead now, and keep all this under your belt. I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Shirley got up and walked out, trying not to let her legs tremble; she felt as if they would collapse any minute, and right now, she needed to get as far away from headquarters as fast as she could, before Phillips thought to review her fictitious conversation. God, what on earth were the men thinking? A dirty bomb, set off by her own government, right in the heart of the country! She didn't even stop to retrieve her purse from her office. She always kept alternate identification concealed in her car. And she wouldn't even stay with the car for long. Abandon it, buy a junker from someone on the street, and go to ground until she could figure a safe way out of town.

  As she was driving off, she thought of another way to protect herself, but first she had to get rid of her car. When she thought about the exposure of trying to buy a junker, she changed her mind, for the moment at least. Part of the academy training for field agents were methods of stealing a car if the need arose, and opportunity presented. She certainly had the need, and she knew just where the best opportunity would be waiting.

  * * * *

  Shirley parked her car near the entrance to a Wal-Mart Superstore, circling twice to find a place close to the storefront. That accomplished, she abandoned her car, then walked into the huge parking lot of an adjoining mall and quickly found easy prey, an unlocked old pickup truck. She had brought her tools from her own vehicle and had the pickup running in less than two minutes. She drove away, stopped at another mall miles away and switched cars again, going in first to purchase mailing envelopes, a tablet and a pen. In this last vehicle, she drove to the airport and left it sitting in a long term parking lot. From there she took a taxi downtown, then walked over a mile to where a cluster of cheap motels were located. Along the way, she stopped at a computer store that she knew had compatible connections for the tiny digital recorder she had worn in Phillips’ office. She paid for a dozen data cards and made copies of their conversation in a little customer booth. By this time, the day was almost over, but she had one more chore to perform. She made it to the nearest post office just before closing and purchased two rolls of stamps. She addressed two of the envelopes to local newspapers, wrapped the recordings in a note citing the urgency, then asked for a list of zip codes. She used them to fix envelopes and notes for television stations and newspapers across the country. She saved two copies for herself. She dropped the packages into the mailing slot and left, noting that out of town mail would be picked up that night.

  She walked out of the post office and on to the motels. She rented a room for the night, drawing a leer from the clerk who noted that she arrived without luggage and paid for the room in cash. Good, let him think what he would; it was safer than having him become suspicious of her other activities.

  * * * *

  Once in her room, Shirley tried to think of what to do next. NSA agents, especially NSA field agents, weren't noted for being fast friends with newspaper or television reporters; such associations were discouraged as a matter of routine. There was one person she had met, though, a former evening news anchor with one of the smaller networks who had made a career change. She now made her living as a free lance writer. But would Nancy help? Shirley thought she might, though it would put her in danger, too. But it would be nice to have someone with connections who could verify that she wasn't a nut, and who would have access to voice recording of Phillips to match against her own recording. And who had a national following.

  She picked up the motel phone and dialed. It was a local number so she didn't worry about being overheard. Fortunately, she caught Nancy at home. She gave her friend a few hints and shortly Nancy Primmerton was on her way. Shirley sighed with relief. Maybe she would get out of this with a whole skin yet.

  * * * *

  Simmons and Cannon had left and neither had returned. When Canton Bass saw the parachuting army troopers, he abandoned the camp as quickly as his legs would
carry him. He wasn't about to drive the explosive laden truck, even if it hadn't contained radioactive material. He first tried to retreat the way they had come in, but the troopers were well trained; they began sending out patrols and organizing the troops to cover all the terrain faster than he ever thought they could. He was forced to back up, and that left only one way to go: down into the valley. He just hoped the damn bomb had a safety lock on it; he had no desire to wander into a fallout pattern. Had he bothered to check the prevailing winds the last week or so, he wouldn't have worried. The place they had picked was in a high, small pocket that swirled and directed the wind, when there was any, directly toward the same side of the “mountain", where the army brigade was setting up headquarters.

  * * * *

  Nancy Primmerton was burning with curiosity as she drove through the streets of a lower middle class neighborhood, then picked up the highway Shirley had told her to take. She had no trouble at all in finding the motel, and Shirley answered her knock on the door immediately. She did have trouble believing Shirley's tale until she listened to the recording she downloaded into her Comphone from Shirley's data card. She recognized the grating tone of voice of Murray Phillips, or thought she did. She had met him once at one of the perennial political parties which never really ended in Washington.

  When the recording ended she stared at her friend as if she had just returned from a trip to the Twilight Zone.

  “Shirley, please tell me this is a big joke.”

  “No joke, Nan. In fact, I felt guilty for calling you, once I thought about it.”

  “Guilty? What on earth for?” Nancy wore her strawberry blond hair cut short and dressed as if she were on the verge of going out to chop wood or hoe the garden. The only time Shirley had ever seen her in anything other than jeans was at a formal party. Right now, her face looked like the way she dressed.