by T C Miller
Okay, you should know ‘bout somethin’ I heard that I wasn’t
supposed to…My brother and his buds was playing basketball
in the driveway last spring…Like right outside my bedroom
window, and I kinda heard what they was saying. Not like I was
snooping or nothing…even though he says I do. They was kinda
loud and I can hear everything.
“They take lots of breaks when they’re shooting hoops…
Think I don’t know ‘bout the beer and the pot…Like I said,
they’re right outside my window, you know, and it’s open…So
the smell’s comin’ in.”
“Like I said, I don’t care what they were doing.” “Long as you know I ain’t no snoop…Anyways, they gotta
come up with bread for this big trip to Mexico and Ron says
he’s workin’ for Peters makin’ a boatload of money. They ask him what he’s doin’, and alls he says is easy stuff…like runnin’ errands. He says some of it’s serious…Like he helps trash this house and it’s supposed to look like kids done it. Another time, he helps one of Peters’s men kill a goat and leaves its guts on this dude’s doorstep…Says he don’t know why…but it’s sorta funny. Also says they want him to go along for some kinda
voodoo stuff in the woods.”
“Did he go?”
“Don’t know for sure. His buds was real interested,
though…One dude asks if it’d help him get girls, you
know…like cast spells on them. Ron says he’s pretty sure it
will…Either way, you know, they can make a lot of bread.”
“Did he say how they could make this money?”
“No…but he’s been buying things I know he ain’t got the
bucks for…Like a new paint job on his car and this really
bitchin’ stereo…Also put custom wheels on his ride, you know?
Tells mom and dad he’s workin’ down at the hardware store and
gettin’ lots of overtime. I know better, ‘cause he spends most of
his time hangin’ with his buds smokin’ dope and watchin’ the
tube.”
“Have you heard anything else ?”
“No, but I took this job when summer started and puttin’ in
lots of hours…Tryin’ to save up for a good car.”
Bart settled back in his seat. “We appreciate the information
you’ve given us and, like I said, we’ll keep your name out of it.
Let me give you a phone number and if you think of anything
else that might help, give us a call.”
He handed her a business card with a toll-free phone number
on it. “They’ll answer with ‘Blue Sky Pizza, is this pick-up or
delivery?’ You ask if they charge extra for anchovies. They’ll
say yes, unless you have a coupon code. Ask if the code is
2RF4D…I wrote it on the back. They’ll connect you with an
operator who’ll take a message. Any questions?”
“No, guess not…This some kinda for-real spy stuff? Who
you dudes work for, anyway?”
“Not important…but your brother may have gotten mixed
up with some really bad guys, so you don’t want to tell anybody
about this. Who knows what Peters might do if he finds out
you’ve been talking to us? Or to your brother and his buddies.
We’ll do our best to protect y’all…but you need to keep real
quiet until we make our move.
“If Peters’s men ask you questions, tell them we work for a
Hollywood production company scouting locations for a movie.
Tell them we said it was hush-hush and that we might even get
you into the movie if you don’t tell anybody what we’re doing.” He handed her another business card with a logo that said
Black Star Productions. The phone numbers were answered by
NSA operatives who would carry out the necessary charade if
anybody called.
Bart stood and Jake followed suit. They said good-bye to
Misty and left the café without any more contact with Peters’s
men. Bart stood on the sidewalk outside and rubbed the back of
his neck. Hope she’s holding up okay, gotta find her. “What now, Boss?” Jake asked the question in a quiet
voice. He had been in tough situations before—although having people he cared about kidnapped added a whole new dimension to the stress. Can’t stop thinking of her and what they might be
doing.
“That’s what I’m working on…Need to get into some
working duds, so let’s go by the bus…I’ll change into tactical
gear…Then we go to the motel so you can do the same. How’s
that sound?”
“Like a plan, sir, like a plan.”
***
CHAPTER 22
ABOARDEAGLE ONE SEAWIND BAY, CA. Five minutes later they were safely inside Eagle One. Bart moved to the back of the bus and opened secret compartments that held the weapons and equipment he would need for the search. A quick change into black tactical BDUs and a moment to add a tactical vest of the same color was followed by the addition of weapons and gear.
A 9mm Baretta semiautomatic pistol went into a holster on the vest, along with four 16-round clips of ammunition in various pouches attached to the vest. Four more clips went on the belt. A Maglite flashlight clipped into a holder on the belt, with a stun gun and handcuffs. Another belt pouch held a collapsible ASP for close in defense. Don’t plan on hand-to-hand…but you never know.
Smoke and flash-bang grenades fit into pouches attached to the Molle Ops rig, as well as a can of MACE. A pair of night-vision goggles with infrared capability went into another pouch and a gas mask hung on his belt.
Cargo-style pockets held long thick, heavy-duty zip-ties that could be used to subdue bad guys, as well as a balaclava mask would conceal his face during the search. A first-aid kit went into another large pants pocket. It held on-the-spot medical treatment supplies and drugs that could be used to control pain—they could also be used to subdue an enemy combatant, if there was a desire to keep them alive.
He adjusted a clip-on earpiece that led to a tactical radio, which he tuned to an operations frequency and set the volume. A throwing knife slid into each combat boot, and a 9mm Baretta fit snuggly into an ankle holster. He retrieved a modified MP5 with a night-vision and infrared scope from a hidden compartment and rejoined Jake in the dining area of the bus.
“All right, son, let’s get over to your room and get you geared up.”
They moved down the aisle, past old Joe’s body. “Banner’s sending a team from San Francisco to take care of him. Time to hit the street and stir up some dust.”
The trip to the motel took another five minutes and Jake was ready to go less than ten minutes after that. His gear was similar with the addition of some martial arts weaponry. Bart drove when they left the motel while Jake studied printouts of the aerial reconnaissance.
“There’s a parking area in the photos up there on the right…
About as close as we’ll get on wheels.”
“Correcto-mundo, son…That’s right about where the monks
crossed the road.”
“Line on the photos that might be a trail…Hard to
tell…Tree canopy hides it most of the time.”
“Counting on it, but still have to take it nice and
slow…Who knows what kind of booby traps they planted? Intel
says Peters’ men are ex-special forces, so they’re
counter-insurgency trained…Sure know how to slow you down
or kill you outright…’though I don’t know they’d want a
murder rap hung ‘round their necks.”
“No, but booby traps going off would warn them…Besides,
> they might get blamed on pot growers…Been known to put out
a few.”
“Guess we’d better proceed with caution then.”
EDGE OF REDWOOD FOREST They left the vehicle and looked around the parking area. “Looks like a trail over there.”
“How ‘bout I take the left…you take the right…We both
watch the trail?”
“Let’s git it.”
Entering the forest was like walking into a vast natural
cathedral. Two thousand year-old trees spread a dense canopy over them that blocked out most sunlight. Birds flitted through the overhead cover twenty-stories above them—their silent wings carrying them from tree to tree. An occasional cry from a black bird was quickly absorbed by the towering giants.
The ground held ferns the size of small cars and the earthy smell of damp soil permeated the air. Clearings created by fallen redwood trees allowed sunshine to penetrate the canopy here and there creating hazy yellow islands. Insects and dust drifted in the spaces between trees and turned the occasional beams of sunshine into smoky spotlights. The clearings also contained poplar, alder, tan oaks and maple. Wildflowers prospered in patches, creating splashes of color.
Jake leaned toward him and said in a quiet voice, “Man, this is beautiful…Can’t wait to show it to Joanna.”
“Know what you mean…Just thinking how much Nora’d love it.” Glad he’s staying upbeat…We’ll need that when it hits the fan.
“ATV tracks…and they’re not that old…Don’t know the last time it rained, but the fog and mist alone’d cover them in no time…Look over there.” He pointed to a fallen tree limb that partially blocked the trail. “Drag-marks where they pulled it back to widen the trail…more than once.”
“Good spotting, son…Got a real eye…Let’s move on nice and easy.”
An occasional gum wrapper and a crushed soda can now and then were proof that something other than wild animals had preceded them. Nearly an hour into what would normally be a twenty minute trek, Bart broke the silence, “Pretty good-sized clearing ahead.”
“Roger that…Heard a faint ship’s horn a while ago…Getting close to the ocean.”
“Move off the trail…Russians might be watching it.”
They moved away from the trail while keeping the clearing in sight. A few steps later, Jake froze in place and pointed to a needle thin line of piano wire stretched across the trail.
“Thought I saw it flash in the sunlight.”
A casual visitor would have been unaware of it until they hit it. Jake traced the line to a nearby tree and an attached device. It was small—not much larger than a fire cracker—but loud enough to send most people fleeing back down the trail.
Occupants of the clearing would easily hear the popping sound and have time to disappear or prepare a less than hospitable welcoming party. Jake pointed to the trap and Bart acknowledged it with a nod. He gingerly disarmed it and they carefully scanned the area for secondary alarms or traps.
“Gotta be even more careful.”
They continued their slow progress toward the clearing. A convenient clump of pickup sized ferns let them move to the edge of the clearing without being detected. They carefully positioned themselves to have a clear view of the altar and switched to their tactical radios. Throat mikes allowed them to hear each other with a minimal amount of noise.
Jake keyed his mike twice and pointed to the other side of the clearing. A six-wheel all-terrain vehicle was parked at the top of a trail that led down toward the cannery. Three men shouldered automatic rifles and gathered up their gear. Jake started to lunge forward, but was held back by Bart’s extended arm.
“Hold on,” Bart whispered into the radio. “Don’t charge out there ‘til we have the whole picture and can look for more traps.”
They scanned the area—found a trip wire that was set back from the clearing about a foot in front of them—and carefully moved over it. They reached the very edge of the clearing when Bart heard the kidnappers talking on a radio. Sure got excited all of a sudden.
“Perimeter alarm,” Jake whispered.
“I’d say they know we’re here.” The end of his comment was punctuated by the dull pop of smoke grenades going off in the clearing. The view from the perimeter was soon obscured by drifting gray and white clouds. They instinctively reached for their infrared goggles. A quick scan of the clearing revealed one figure driving away on the ATV. Three figures moved toward the center of the clearing, and abruptly disappeared. They checked the settings on their goggles.
“Where’d they go?” Jake asked.
“Not the slightest idea…Move up to the altar…They may be hiding behind it.”
They had only advanced a few feet when Jake stopped to study a golf-tee painted fluorescent orange. An identical marker was placed five-feet in front of it at ground level. “These weren’t just dropped by somebody…They point to the altar.”
Bart moved beyond him and whispered into the radio, “Another line of ‘em parallel to yours…Looks like a safe path.”
“Be a lot faster to move.”
“Let’s take a shot…hope we’re right.”
They moved cautiously at first, but soon gained confidence in their theory. The discovery of a hidden pressure plate three feet off the path and then another, soon validated the idea. They scanned the area through the lingering clouds of smoke but no figures emerged. The trail of markers ceased its forward progress and turned into curving lines that led off to the left and right.
“Looks like we’re at the altar.” Jake’s voice was so low as to be almost unintelligible. “Where are the Russians?”
“Your guess is as good as mine…Let’s circle it…See what turns up.”
The edifice appeared to be made of snow-white marble standing five feet tall by five feet wide with a surface worn smooth by years of rain and wind. The other end of the altar was higher, with drainage channels around the edge that ran down to a catch basin with an opening at the bottom.
The sides of the altar were smooth, except for a six-inch high border of cryptic rune letters set into six-inch wide tiles. They ran the eight-foot length of the altar and were positioned about a foot from the top. Bart touched the carved tiles. Wonder if it was built wide to hold more than one person?
They moved carefully toward the other end—fully prepared to meet an assault from the Russians. Instead, they were greeted by curling tendrils of dissipating mist from the smoke grenades. They traded puzzled looks and turned their attention to the other end of the altar. Two steps that were as wide as the altar allowed access to the top. The same border of cryptic letters ran the width of the wall. They began studying the construction of the wall for inconsistencies.
“Think I got it.” Bart pointed to two of the decorative squares set about shoulder’s width apart. They were slightly off-square with the tiles on either side of them and close inspection showed straight fine lines in the mortared borders. He pressed both of them and the steps moved slightly— revealing a gap where they met the wall of the altar. “You are the man,” Jake exclaimed.
“Help me pull these out,” Bart replied. The steps slid toward them to open a space large enough for entry into the altar. Once inside, the stone steps turned into a roughhewn natural stone ramp that curved downward in the direction of the old cannery. Electrical conduit on the ceiling followed the passageway with bare forty watt light bulbs spaced every ten feet. They illuminated walls and ceiling made of the same old red brick Bart remembered from his childhood school.
He turned to Jake and grinned. “What do you think, son…Ready for an adventure?”
“Ready as ever.”
ABOARD NSA TRU-1 HELICOPTER OVER NORTHERN CALIFORNIA “Ain’t it kind of dangerous, flying this low?” The question was spoken over the intercom as the sleek, black helicopter glided silently over the ridge at treetop level. It had been modified for stealthy operation and its carbon fiber blades made only a gentle whooshing sound at flight id
le speed. No exterior lights alerted outsiders to its presence, and the specialized, light-absorbing paint allowed little reflection.
Crew members wore custom flight helmets that contained night-vision and infrared capabilities. The headgear also muffled their voices, so that passengers in the aircraft without flight helmets could not hear their conversation, unless they lifted their poly carbonate visors. In this case, all crew and passengers wore helmets.
The question came from a new member of the NSA’s Tactical Response Unit Team One. The rotary-wing aircraft contained eight members of TRT-1, plus the trainee named Carl, “with a ‘C’”, who was the source of the question.
They took off earlier from the National Security Agency building in South San Francisco and proceeded almost due north toward the coastal village of Seawind Bay. He continued before anybody could answer the question, “The preflight briefing said dense fog could be expected at times…How’s that going to affect landing?”
“Whoa, Newbie, one question at a time,” was the response from the copilot. “We’re using terrain-following radar… computer knows what it’s doing. As for landing…no sweat. We’re using a Forest Service base camp and they’ve turned on the control tower gear…Between their beacons, our GPS and the TFR, we could set this thing down at midnight on a moonless night…almost with our eyes closed.”
“In one piece?”
“You said ‘landing’…you didn’t specify in one piece…But yes, even though any landing you walk away from is a good one, we try to deliver our packages in pristine condition.”
“Wasn’t in pristine condition when I got on this bird…Does that mean I will be when I get off?”
“Never know, Newbie, you never know.”
Team One Leader, Bob Onkst glanced out the tinted window at two other stealth craft flying in formation with them. One held TRT-2, led by Tom Owens. The other was for command, control and extraction of hostages. A combat-trained medic was on board to assist the hostages—as well as any operatives who might be injured. It also carried John Banner, head of the San Francisco office. While it was not unheard of for Banner to accompany a field team, it was unusual enough that every member of the team took extra care to follow procedures to the letter. Onkst broke into the conversation.
