Black Star Bay

by T C Miller

  “There’s no big secret,” John Banner said in as sincere a voice as he could muster. Morgan eyed him suspiciously. “Why is it, when the head of NSA’s West Coast Office tells me, ‘there’s no big secret’, I figure there must be a really big secret?”

  “Doesn’t matter…You know how it is…I can’t tell you unless you’ve got a need to know…Trying to do my job and don’t see how the DEA’s involved.”

  “Don’t you think I should be the one to make that call? Just give me a hint…I’ll let you know if you’re close.”

  “Sorry, Jack…Matter of national security.”

  “Oh, c’mon, don’t pull that ‘national security’ crap on me. I’ve been doing this just as long as you…I can spot a smokescreen a mile away…So let’s just cut to the bone, why are you walking all over my op?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you…We’re not…Besides, what makes you think we’re even in the area?” Wonder if he’s got Arnie Snell’s op mixed up with ours?

  “What, I show you mine and now you won’t show me yours?…Is that how we’re going to play this?”

  “Good point…You come waltzing in here and ask a bunch of questions…Want me to spill everything, but you haven’t told me squat.”

  “I’ve told you enough for you to know you need to back off. Like I said, you’re close to destroying a hard-fought op that I’ve invested a lot of time and money into…”

  “Again, what makes you think I’m running an op…Who told you that?”

  “Doesn’t matter…Got a heads-up…from, uh, higher up in the chain.”

  “You mean, DC right?”

  “Can’t say who…”

  “Which means we’re both stuck by politics, right?”

  “Even if it was DC you still got no right to trample all over my op.”

  “For the last time, I’m telling you, I don’t have an op in that area.” Least not for a day or two.

  “Okay, stonewall me all you want, but I’m warning you… somebody gets hurt, it’s on you.”

  “I’m not stonewalling and it’s no game…Furthermore, don’t threaten me or we’ll get into how your guys have bumbled their way into one of my ops on more than one occasion…Mostly due to their trigger-happy cowboy-attitude training…You’re not the only agency in town, Jack…Get used to it. Look, I’d debate this with you all day, but, I’m in the middle of a dozen things and need to get back to them.”

  “What, you’re gonna cut me off, just like that?”

  “Really am busy, but tell you what, how about we have lunch next week…My treat…and we’ll see if anything’s come up by then…What do you think?”

  “I think you’re trying to blow me off, that’s what I think…By next week this whole thing could be over.”

  “Only if you finish your op…Although, you say you’ve been at it for a couple of years and nothing’s turned up…What makes you think something’ll pop up in a few days or weeks, for that matter?”

  “A gut feeling, that’s all.”

  “Good luck with that…Promise you, though, if anything about drugs comes up you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Looks like you’re not gonna play nice…so I guess it’ll have to do…But I’m telling you right here and now, this ain’t over…And if you’re people give mine away I’ll be on you like white on rice…Don’t forget, we both have higher-ups to answer to.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” Good luck, asshole. He saw Morgan to the door, returned to his desk and called the Director.

  “I agree with your assessment that some other agenda is in play…There are a number of possibilities, including a few that might not be readily apparent…Let me do some checking and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Is that all?”

  “No, there is the question of how Morgan found out about our undercover operation. He indicated that it came from your end.”

  “I am concerned by what appears to be a leak from my office…I’ve had Internal Practices open an investigation into it, and I’ll add this to the list. I wonder if the formation of the Black Star Ops Group might be somehow involved. It’s not even a month old and only a handful of people know of its existence…There’s always the possibility it may have been compromised…If so, it was likely from within the agency. DOD was given no details about the assignment of their personnel to the BSOG…other than the cover story.

  “On the other hand, I doubt that one of the BSOG was the source…I’ve had them watched twenty-four hours a day, including their electronic communications and mail…Hasn’t been a hint of a leak. Unfortunately, that points back to us…A very disturbing idea and I’ll pursue it. As always, I trust you to conduct the operation in Seawind Bay…Continue your daily update and we’ll see how this plays out.”

  “The Air Force people are performing very well, and getting along with our people.”

  “Good…but keep in mind they’re part of us, so we should refer to them as our people. I fully intend to make this thing work…no matter what…It’s to our advantage politically.”

  “I understand, sir.” The call was winding down a few minutes later and John summed it up. “Seems typical…Started out as a simple operation to apprehend Eichner and recover our material. Now we have Russian smugglers, Customs and the DEA in the mix…And the smugglers may be the most consistent part of the equation. Although, I like this Arnie Snell…Seems dedicated and solid as a rock.…Wish he worked for us.”

  “Keep an eye on Morgan…I’ve been able to have him kept on a leash in the past…It may be different this time.”

  “Really, how?”

  “Can’t go into it over the phone…We’re not the only ones who possess eavesdropping capability. Call me the minute he threatens your operation…I have friends who may be able to control him…If they can’t, I’ll take it to the top.”

  Hate to be Morgan if that can of worms gets opened. “I’ll keep you updated and hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Good…By the way, use the sat phone next time you call…Later.”

  Must be someone in the Agency he doesn’t trust.

  He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let the whole picture come slowly into focus. Other agencies involved had their own agendas and Eichner didn’t travel halfway across the country to sample the stone crabs. The smugglers weren’t Boy Scouts either. He picked up the phone, “Mel, send in my next appointment.”

  ***

  CHAPTER 13

  TELFORD’S GROCERY

  SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA “This reminds me of the old small-town grocery stores in southern Alabama,” Nora remarked as she stepped through the wide screen door with a six-inch high printed metal bar in the middle advertising a bread bakery. “Even has that special smell…Takes me right back to my childhood…Worn wooden floors and open shelves…You don’t find those in the big-box stores.”

  “You folks new in town, or just passing through?” inquired

  a gray-haired heavyset woman from behind the cluttered counter, with a wariness in her voice. “We’re here for an RV rally over the hills,” Nora replied. “Thought we’d pick up a few things and look around…My, you sure do have a nice selection.”

  “We try to stock most everything folks need so they don’t have to run up to Point Arena all the time…Saves ‘em time and gas.”

  “Haven’t seen a store with tabletop bins in years and look, you have penny-candy.”

  “Didn’t think anybody even made it anymore.” Bart chimed in.

  “It’s a little hard to find, but the tourists like it…If you folks’ll pardon me, I need to get back to stocking…Look around to your heart’s content…Wave if you have a question.”

  Bart leaned down to Nora and whispered, “Is it my imagination, or was she practically using x-ray eyes on us?”

  “It’s natural to pay close attention to strangers, but you’re right…feel like I’ve been searched and patted down.”

  Bart headed toward the back of the store to t
he sporting goods area while Nora continued to browse through the bins of assorted merchandise. They didn’t need anything in particular, but decided to stroll through the town as a break from the activities at the RV rally—and to get a feel for the place.

  Main Street was California Highway 1A, which split the three city blocks of town down the middle. They started at the busiest end and the store was their first stop. Maybe I can find a souvenir or two. So far, she had only spotted a refrigerator magnet that showed a map of California and a toothpick holder in the shape of a pelican. Both items were made of cheap plastic and were marked a dollar ninety-nine.

  Bart was at the back of the store looking at fishing tackle. Is that a little bottle brush? Bart was not an all-out committed fisherman. On the other hand, he approached it like he did any endeavor—with extensive research to find the style and techniques that best suited him. It was only one of the many personality traits of his Nora admired. Bart could be counted on to approach any aspect of life with a fierce devotion that was close to fanaticism. He treated their marriage the same way and she never doubted him. Couldn’t do this with anybody else.

  A quick glance showed that the clerk was trying to use a set of open shelves to camouflage herself while she spied on them. Nora sensed a stealthy movement behind her and started to turn when two strong hands grabbed her shoulders.

  “Why, if I was some low-down, bush-whackin’, dastardly enemy agent sneaking up behind you, you’d be a goner for sure. Bart whispered in her ear just in time to keep her from kicking back at him.

  She drew him closer and whispered, “Maybe I was trying to get you close enough to do something evil.” She slid her hands down the small of his back, grabbed his waistband and gave an upward tug. “Like give you the mother of all wedgies.”

  “Good lord, I hope not…That’s all I need right now to make me forget why we’re here. Behave yourself, woman.”

  “Only if you let me get naughty later.”

  “I might just let you do that, especially if you get good and naughty…”

  “I’m always good.”

  “Indeed you are. You notice the way the old woman’s watching us?”

  “Maybe she’s worried about shoplifting

  “Been watching our every move. Used the telephone right after we came in, and from the look on her face, don’t think she was calling a friend. Anyway, I think we might should head on back… Gettin’ dark and the road over those hills winds a little too much for comfort…Wouldn’t want to wrap Eagle One around a tree.

  “Not after all the time and work put into her. Sure wish we had the toad with us…be a lot easier to drive on little trips like this..”

  “Except the rig’s almost seventy-feet feet long with the car hauler in back…Make for tight turns in little towns like this… takes forty acres to turn that baby around.”

  They paid for their purchases and left the store.

  “Man…sun sure is settin’ fast.” He was busy watching the last rays of fuzzy persimmon sun slip below the ocean and turned the wrong way. They hadn’t gone more than fifty feet when he turned and stared at a building.

  “What in the world is that doing here?” Bart stood still, examining the structure two-doors down from the store. “They call this place Seawind Bay…Sounds a whole lot better than ‘Storm Ravaged Bay’…But that’s why most of the buildings are weather-worn gray…So, where’d this beauty come from?”

  “Not exactly your typical fishing village design is it?”

  The building was a full two-stories tall with windows at least twelve feet in height. The polished-marble facade stood in stark contrast to the faded-wood of the adjoining buildings. It was a sparkling light gray that shone even in the twilight. Every square inch of the building looked as though it had been polished clean that day, including the windows—which were crystal clear. Any view of the interior was blocked by a double layer of lace curtains that might have been laundered and ironed wrinkle-free a few hours before.

  “Sure don’t build ‘em like that anymore,” was Bart’s reply. “Look at the carving on the doors…Cost a fortune nowadays…Must be near eight-feet tall.”

  The capstone above the doorway was a single massive piece of granite three feet high. Five letters engraved in a precise Roman-style font a foot-and-a-half high spelled out DRUID. The edges of the lettering were slightly rounded and appeared to have been created some time ago.

  He tilted his head toward her and spoke in a near whisper, “Wonder who owns it…and what it’s for?”

  “No idea. Beautifully done though and in such great shape… On the other hand, is it me, or is it more than a little creepy”?

  “Not just you…Creepy, and I have no idea why…Feels like walking past a graveyard on a moon-less night.”

  “Exactly.” Her voice had risen in pitch and volume and she lowered both. “Who’d put a building like this in a small town…and most of all, why?”

  “Don’t have a clue…We’ll ask around tomorrow…In the meantime, it’s getting late.”

  They turned and headed down the street toward Eagle One, picking up the pace as they went. Bart unlocked the bus and waited for Nora to climb the steps. She reached the top and turned around. “Something’s wrong.”

  He stepped inside and heard the steady beeping of the intrusion alarm. “Wait down there.” She moved back to the street. “You know the drill…I yell…you run.”

  He opened a hidden panel in the driver’s console and removed a Beretta 9mm pistol. The slide moved back with ease and loaded a round into the chamber as he flicked the safety off with his thumb. He traveled the length of the bus opening the bathroom and bedroom doors. A quick check of the closets revealed no intruder and he went back to the front. “All clear.”

  She locked the door behind her, slid open another hidden panel and set the alarm. He was checking the master alarm panel as she joined him in the kitchen.

  “History shows somebody tried to jimmy the door lock and gave up…I’ll have to give the guys in the tech center some good words on the quality of their door-locking system.”

  An ordinary bus door lock had been converted to a system that was similar to a bank vault door. Three cylindrical locking pins the size of screwdriver handles closed at the top, bottom and middle of the door to prevent entry by any but the most determined thieves. A miniature camera disguised as part of the lock assembly recorded movement within three feet of the door.

  Nora started the playback of the attempted break-in. “Camera got good shots of two guys.”

  “Probably just a couple of unemployed deck hands hoping to grab something to turn into quick cash.”

  “Maybe. Checking for fingerprints won’t do any good, though…The one who tried the lock was wearing gloves”.

  “No point in calling the local gendarmes…Just draw attention to us. Let’s head on back to camp…Whole place is startin’ to give me the creeps.”

  Bart strode to the front, settled into the driver’s seat and with a quick flick of a few switches brought the bus to life. The air brakes were soon up to operating pressure and they were on their way. “Well, that took longer than I thought it would.”

  He switched on the headlights and running lights to counter the deepening twilight before pulling out of the parking lot. “Fog’s coming off the ocean faster than a coon dog after a pork chop…Swirlin’ across the road like it’s alive…reminds me of that Stephen King movie The Fog.”

  The blackness of the asphalt blended with the gray color of the town to lend a ghostly appearance to the scene. The view was soon limited to two yellow cones projected by the headlights, and as the bus climbed slowly out of the bowl in which the town sat, giant trees closed in around each side. The incessant series of curves in the road meant the scene in front featured trees ahead as well.

  “Dadgum, between the curves and the climb, I feel like I’m tap-dancin' on roller skates on an ice rink tryin’ to shift, steer and watch the road.” He worked the transmission smoothly t
hrough the gears while using the tachometer and speedometer to get the most out of the engine.

  They had gone about a mile and a half when Bart raised his vision from the instruments to the swirling-gray mist ahead and the shock of what he saw caused him to lose concentration and miss a gear. He instinctively downshifted and slammed on the air brakes. A quick tug of the air horn was all the warning he could offer to Nora, who was standing in the aisle looking into the refrigerator.

  The door swung open and struck the cabinet next to it with a thud—scattering bottles and jars on the floor. Nora lost her footing and tumbled down the aisle toward the windshield. Bart took his hand off the gearshift long enough to reach out and help stop her forward momentum.

  The rear end of the bus began to fishtail and he grabbed the wheel again with both hands to keep it from sliding off the road. The engine stalled and the bus came to rest diagonally across the highway.

  “What the…Are you trying to kill us?” Nora was more frightened than angry and Bart turned one-hundred per cent of his attention to her.

  “You didn’t see them?”

  “See who?”

  “The guys in the road.”

  “What guys…What’re you talking about? There’s nobody out there.”

  “Them.” He had twisted around to talk to her and turned back to the front. “Right there…What the…?” The steadily thickening fog reduced visibility to less than a hundred feet.

  He pointed toward the nearly obscured highway. “Dang it, they were right there…At least a dozen men…I’m serious…Crossing the road…Had on those robes that monks wear…Heads were down with the hoods pulled up…Walking in single file. Hands tucked into the big sleeves…Walking in step…I’m not crazy, baby, I know they were there.”

  Nora sat down on the passenger seat and rubbed her head where it struck the dining table as she rolled down the aisle. “Look, you’re tired. Maybe it was a couple of deer…I don’t see anything out there now.”

  “Dang it, I know the difference between men and deer,” he mumbled.

  He restarted the engine, straightened the bus and pulled as far over to the right as he could, grabbed the Beretta— deactivated the alarm system and headed out the door with a flashlight in the other hand.