Tyrone blew out a soft sigh. "I don't know." He paused in his sandwich construction.
Howard nodded. He'd been through this with seasoned veterans, longtime soldiers who'd trained for years but never had to actually shoot another person. When they did, it hit them, sometimes hard.
And Tyrone was no seasoned soldier. He was just a fifteen-year-old boy.
"Tell me about it, son."
Tyrone gave a little shrug. "I shot a man, Dad. This guy was alive yesterday. Now he's dead."
Howard nodded. "You're right, Tyrone," he said. "That's a serious thing, and never, ever something done lightly. But you didn't cause that situation, son."
"I know," Ty said. "That man was coming to kill Little Alex. Probably, anyway. But it's for sure that he was going to kill me. I saw him point that gun at me. I saw his finger tighten." He looked at his father. "He tried to kill me, Dad. No one's ever done that before. The thing is, I still keep feeling that I should have tried something else. Shooting him in the shoulder, maybe."
Howard shook his head. "You did the right thing, son," he said. "We've talked about weapons before, about things like stopping power and the different calibers. That .22 of yours makes a great target piece, but it's not very good at stopping a man." He looked directly into Tyrone's eyes, ignoring the sandwich, ignoring the way his son's hand had started to shake slightly, ignoring everything but the communication, the contact, that was happening between them at this moment. "You did the right thing, Ty. Had you tried anything else, had you shot him in the shoulder, you would probably not have stopped him. He'd have fired back at you, and he'd have killed you, and then he would have done whatever he'd come to do to Little Alex." He paused again, letting that sink in for a moment, and then he repeated. "You did the right thing. You did the only thing. He gave you no other choice."
Tyrone nodded, but Howard wasn't sure how much his words had helped. Ty was in a spot where words could only do so much. He had to work through this on his own. His dad could be there for him, to answer some of the tough questions, and to point him in the right direction, but it was up to Ty to get through this.
John knew he would, though. He was a good kid, with a good heart, and a good head on his shoulders. And besides, everything Howard had just told him was the truth. He had done the right thing, the only thing.
"Thanks, Dad," Ty said. He picked up his sandwich and took a huge bite. "I love you."
At least, that's what it sounded like he said. It was hard to tell around that mouthful of sandwich.
Howard smiled. "I love you, too," he said. "And I am very, very proud of you, Ty."
Michaels and Toni were in bed, the baby sleeping between them. Alex had his right hand resting on Little Alex's chest, rising and falling slightly with his son's breathing. His left hand rested on the pillow, holding Toni's hand tenderly.
"Guru will be back tomorrow," she said.
"That's good."
"What time are you leaving?"
"John wants to take off around six thirty."
"You be careful," she said, giving his hand a small squeeze.
Alex smiled. "Ames is a lawyer, not a Navy SEAL."
Toni shook her head. "He has guns. He belongs to a gun club."
"I'll be careful," Alex said.
They lay quietly for a moment. "So, what do you think about Colorado?" Alex asked.
"Colorado?"
He nodded. "I got offered a job as head of corporate computer security for Aspen International, remember? Twice the money, half the work, complete with a car, expense account, and country-club membership."
She hesitated. "Maybe I was a little upset before," she said.
Alex shook his head. "No, hon, you were a lot upset. And you had a right to be. You weren't wrong. It's time to move on."
Another long pause. "We'll have to get a house big enough for Guru, and for when Susie comes to visit."
Alex smiled. "They have big houses out there. I bet we could find one."
Toni looked at him, her eyes holding his steadily for a long moment. "Are you sure about this, Alex?"
"I have never been more sure about anything, Toni. Well, except that marrying you was a good idea."
That got a big smile from her.
He loved to make her smile.
39
Odessa, Texas
Ames arose at dawn, showered, dressed, made himself a cup of coffee, and then hiked to the emergency escape hatch past the garbage dump. Once there, he climbed the three flights of stairs up to the surface. The door, a hydraulically operated vaultlike monster, was designed to keep out the riffraff fleeing atomic attack. Disc-shaped, it was slightly larger in diameter than a manhole cover, two feet thick, and hinged like a jeweler's loupe. It pivoted on a massive, tempered pin as big around as a large man's arm. It was camouflaged on the surface by a flat stretch of sand on a motorized frame that raised up on command. When the sand frame was in place, the entrance was virtually invisible. And even if you knew it was there, opening it would be a major chore without the proper keys, codes, and commands.
Ames used the periscope hidden in a creosote bush to check and make sure nobody was around. When he was certain that everything was clear, he pushed the door control button. It took thirty seconds for the sand frame to rise high enough for the door to pivot open.
He climbed up and out, standing under the sand frame, which now stood some seven feet above the ground.
This was the best time of day if you wanted to go outside here in the summer. It was as cool as it was going to get this time of year, and only the jackrabbits and birds were stirring. There were no other humans for as far as he could see, though a distant jet contrail arrowed across the pale, cloudless sky, too far away for him to hear the craft that created it.
Quiet, peaceful, and all his . . .
He spent ten minutes or so breathing the fresh air, glad to be out of the confines of the bomb shelter, laying his plans for the coming days and weeks. Satisfied, he went back inside, shut the door and lowered the frame, and headed back along the echoing tile corridor toward the kitchen. He had in mind salmon hash and eggs for breakfast this morning, and maybe a mimosa to wash in down.
He grinned. Wonder what the poor folks are doing this morning.
Bush Air Force Base Odessa, Texas
The Net Force jet was nearly there by the time dawn broke locally, pacing the sun from the east. They would have all day to get set, plenty of time.
Michaels, surprisingly, had fallen asleep on the trip, and awoke as the craft began its descent toward the new Air Force base a couple of hours away from their target. Howard had arranged to borrow some trucks from the Texas National Guard, Net Force technically being a part of the Guard, at least for accounting purposes. In theory, the vehicles should be there when the jet landed.
After they were down and the unloading process under way, John Howard joined Michaels in the back of the mobile operations center, which was essentially a canvas-covered flatbed truck. Despite this, it was air-conditioned, after a fashion.
"For the computers," Howard said. "The personal tactical units don't need it, but the bigger ones get goofy once the air temp rises above body heat."
"Is it going to get that hot here?"
"West Texas in the summer? Oh, yes. It'll be cooler after dark, but we will have to load and move out in the daylight."
Alex looked at him. "Do you really think this will work, John?" he asked. "It seems like an awfully big place to assault with only ten men."
A forklift wheeled past bearing a pair of wooden crates bigger than coffins. There were three more like them still on the jet.
General Howard said, "I think so. The truth is, though, that either we nail it with ten men or we wouldn't be able to do it with a hundred. Like you said, it's a big place, and surprise will work better for us than sheer numbers."
Alex nodded. He'd known that already, of course, but this entire operation was going forward on his say-so alone. He had the final word on g
o/no go, and he still could cancel it at any time up until they actually entered Ames's bomb shelter. After that things got a lot dicier.
Ames had plenty to distract him. He had full net capabilities as well as satellite-reception radio and video. He could get five hundred television channels from around the world, and local programming from the radio stations in Addis Ababa, if he wanted. He had a library to rival those in many small towns in hard copy alone, legal tomes, medical books, not to mention thousands of novels, entertainment vids, and musical compositions on DVD and minis, should his net connection somehow go out. He had a gym, a lap pool, a shooting range, a basketball court, and even a six-lane bowling alley. He had food, wine, and a pharmacy deep enough to take care of a hundred people all sick with different diseases.
He had art on his walls, paintings by masters. He had sculptures. He had three of his favorite chairs, and a computer-operated bed of biogel that was the most comfortable in the world.
He had everything he needed, except a challenge.
Ames shrugged. There was nothing he could do about that right now. His plans were in place. Net Force was tied up by the lawsuit, afraid to do anything, and every day they delayed brought the passage of the CyberNation bill closer to reality.
Everything was moving along nicely. All he had to do was wait.
And that, he'd found before, was the one thing he did not do well.
He shrugged. That's why he had this place stocked as well as he did. He needed the distractions.
Thinking about them, he decided that he felt like doing a few laps in the pool, then maybe a little shooting at the range. It would be good to keep a sound body and sharp eye to go with the sound mind. . . .
Upton County, Texas
The staging area was twelve miles away from the target, and at five o'clock in the afternoon, it was a hundred and three degrees Fahrenheit. The only shade came from the trucks and a few scraggly willow trees along an almost dry creek bed.
Howard saw Julio coming toward him, wiping his face with a rag.
"I hope these things don't go belly up in this heat," Lieutenant Fernandez said.
Behind Howard, Michaels said, "Is that likely?"
"I hope not. It'll be a long walk home if they do."
The things to which Julio was referring were the five specially fitted Segway scooters that Howard, Michaels, Julio, and two troopers would be riding toward the target from the south while the other five soldiers rolled in on the position from the north.
The little electric scooters wore stealth gear, the latest generation of polycarb fiber sheathing, all sharp angles and smooth surfaces. They had used similar camo on trucks. It worked, especially on civilian-grade radar and Doppler, but it wasn't perfect. That was why the troops in the truck would be feinting from the north as Howard and the others sneaked in from the opposite direction.
If Ames was awake when they rolled in, and if he had his radar on, he would see a nice, fat blip thrown by the truck, and, with any luck, not the scooters. They wouldn't be totally invisible, but they would be fuzzy and dim enough so he probably wouldn't notice them.
The plan was to pull the truck to within a mile or so and stop it. The men would get out and move around, offering enough activity to occupy a watcher's attention. Even if he had FLIR or some kind of spookeye starlight scope, the hope was that he'd be focused on the obvious threat. Which wouldn't seem imminent, since they wouldn't be close to any of the known entrances.
Meanwhile, Howard and the strike team from the south would get there, get inside, and grab the guy before he knew what hit him.
In theory, anyway.
The commander had asked the big question: Just how did they get into a secure facility designed to keep everything up to and including nuclear radiation out? Digging through thirty or forty feet of dirt wasn't a chore for ordinary men with shovels, not if they were in hurry, and the doors were more than likely going to be locked.
Howard thought he had an answer, but that remained to be seen. If the plans they had of the place were accurate, if they could get there undetected, and if the other new gear worked, they had a shot at it.
If, if, if.
"We're pretty much ready to roll," Julio said. "I think I'm going to take a nap."
Julio ambled off and climbed into the back of the truck with the computer gear in it. Howard nodded. It was at least twenty degrees cooler in there. He'd find room--and sleeping curled in relative cool was better than stretched out on the dirt in the middle of a Texas summer day.
"It's not a bad idea, getting some rest," Howard said. "We won't start our run until midnight."
Michaels looked dubious.
"One of the first things you learn as a soldier is to eat and sleep whenever you can," Howard said. "Never know when you'll get the chance again, once things start cooking."
Ames put on an old Marx brothers' movie around six, fixed himself a sandwich and a microbrew beer when that was done, and headed for bed. Though there was no real reason for it, he was tired. A couple of hours in the magic bed would fix him right up.
Michaels looked at his watch. It was five of twelve. The day's heat had died down considerably, but it was hardly what you would call "cool"--it was still about eighty or so, he guessed.
Howard, dressed in chocolate-chip camo that matched the clothes Michaels himself wore, even to the spider-silk body armor, walked over to where Michaels stood.
"I thought it got cold at night in the desert."
"Depends on the desert," Howard said. "It probably gets colder here in the winter. You ready?"
"Yes."
"Let's go over this one more time," Howard said. "The scooters have fat tires that will work fine on dirt, though it will take most of an hour to get there. The spookeyes will make it look like daylight, and all you have to do is stay behind me. I'm tracking Julio, and he has mapped out the safest route, using GPS grids. Troopers Holder and Reaves will bring up the rear. If you can keep from falling off your scooter, you'll be fine. You had a chance to check on it, right?"
"On the nice, flat, concrete parking lot at Net Force HQ."
Howard grinned. "You'll do fine, Commander. Just remember to hang on to the little handle grip and lean. We won't be doing any fancy maneuvers out there."
Michaels nodded.
Howard looked at his watch. "Okay, people, time to mount up!"
Michaels walked to his scooter. It looked sort of like a filing cabinet with some odd bits projecting from it, angled so that one edge was leading. The back of it was hollowed out, and the whole thing was mounted on what looked like an old nonmotorized push lawnmower. The only part of his body that would be visible from the front to radar would be his head, and the stealth helmet with its built-in spookeye heads-up display shield was supposed to take care of that.
Well, they'd find out how well it worked soon enough.
Lieutenant Fernandez climbed onto his machine, leaned forward, and started to roll. Howard followed suit. Michaels mounted his own two-wheeler, put his helmet on, and flipped the motor's power switch.
"Here we go," he said quietly.
Ames awoke past midnight, almost one A.M., not sure what had awakened him. He got up and padded to the bathroom. On his way back to bed he heard a little beeping noise.
He frowned. What was that?
The control console on his bedside table flashed a red light from the screen, pulsing in time with the noise. It took a second for him to realize what it was.
The radar alarm. He had company!
He didn't bother to dress, just grabbed his pistol and ran to the computer center down the hall in his pajamas.
The radar/Doppler screen showed activity to the north, a mile or so away. Who was that, and what were they doing out here?
There were two dozen cameras on his property, with others hidden in the ground or in bushes or trees past that, all wireless remotes. He cranked up the one closest to the intruders. It was a hundred yards away from them, but the optics were very g
ood, light-gathering intensifiers making the night scene easily visible even at almost one in the morning, although with a slight greenish cast to it.
What he saw was a big truck, a flatbed, with two guys standing next to it. The truck had the hood up, and a third guy was poking around in the engine compartment. They didn't look like any kind of official anything, just three guys attending to a malfunctioning truck. On their way from no count to no place, and broke down in the middle of nowhere. They didn't even know this place was here.
Still, he wasn't going to take his eyes off them. No sense taking chances. Not at this point.
But maybe he should put some clothes on, just in case.
Riding the scooter across the ground was both easier and harder than Michaels had expected. The ride was bumpy and slow. Then again, he hadn't fallen off, which was something.
He had no idea how far they had come. It seemed as if they had been riding for hours, though a glance at his watch showed they'd actually been rolling for only about forty-five minutes.
The five of them wore LOSIR gear, line-of-sight infrared com sets that wouldn't be picked up by ordinary radio receivers, and on scrambled channels so that anybody else with such gear couldn't hear them anyway. Even so, Howard had ordered com-silence except for emergencies, and so far, at least, there hadn't been any of those.
Knock on wood . . .
The night vision devices worked well enough. It wasn't exactly like noon, and the helmet's computer coloration was more pastel than reality. But it didn't look like an unlighted desert in the middle of the night, either. The wonders of modern technology.
On point, Julio Fernandez slowed. Howard followed suit, and Michaels leaned back a hair to slow his own scooter. Michaels watched carefully. Once they arrived, there was a pattern in which they would have to park the vehicles, so as to screen them from the sensor's view. There would be a dead zone behind the scooter screen, Howard had told him, an invisible gap in which they could work undetected. Well, at least unseen. They'd be making a fair amount of noise pretty quick. . . .
State Of War (2003) Page 30
