“Stay calm. Get in the back and stay out of sight. Wake your girlfriend up and keep her quiet.”
The truck came to a stop on the shoulder of the dark highway.
“Keep the pistol with you and watch us on the monitors. If he cuffs me and comes up here to take a look inside then do what you have to do.”
Behind them, the flashers of a highway patrol car illuminated the darkness in bursts of red and gold. Bear got out of the truck and walked back to meet the officer. It was completely silent. Devin woke Ramielle.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Shhh,” Devin ordered. “Look.”
They watched Bear on the monitor approach the Mounty in the faint glow of the truck’s running lights. The officer met him about halfway back alongside the trailer. The officer spoke but was out of audible range. Then Bear spoke. The officer pointed at the trailer and Bear nodded his head. The officer spoke some more while Bear pointed down the road. The officer kept talking while Bear nodded. The officer pointed towards the cab. Bear shook his head.
Devin squeezed the cold, tactile handle on the pistol. His grip on it was sweaty and slick. The officer walked along the trailer towards the cab. Bear continued talking. The officer approached the door. Bear started pleading. Devin pushed the safety in on the pistol with his thumb and slipped his index finger over the trigger. Ramielle stopped breathing as Devin slowly raised the gun.
The officer’s footfalls in the gravel were just outside the driver’s door. Devin could hear Bear bargaining with him. The officer reached for the door handle. Ramielle’s eyes froze in a wide, unblinking stare. Devin raised the pistol to the driver side window. The officer pulled himself onto the running board and gazed into the cab. Devin quietly eased forward in the darkness with the barrel of the gun pointed towards the window.
Bear stopped bargaining. The officer held still as he peered blindly into the blackness of the cab. Devin breathed in deeply, consciously, quietly. The pistol was pointed at the officer’s face. It would be a point blank shot through the glass.
When the officer finally opened the door Devin would order him to freeze. No, that would be useless. The cop would draw his pistol and fire. There would be a shootout regardless. Ramielle would probably be killed. If he survived, he would be hunted down.
No. He couldn’t kill this man. He was just some pawn doing his job. What would he do, then? Shoot himself?
No. He wouldn’t shoot himself. Suicide is to rash. Besides, his brains would get all over the plush carpet in the back of Bear’s cab.
The four of them stood there, motionless, silent, frozen in time in the middle of the night on the lonely highway at the foot of the Canadian Rockies with the Milky Way sparkling above. Bear watched the cop with nothing left to say or offer. The cop stared into the dark cab, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at his face. Ramielle watched Devin, wanting him to do something, anything to end the tension, ready to burst out screaming with the breath she had been clenching for several seconds. Devin was immersed in his own indecisive terror, aiming the pistol at the black silhouette in the window. His finger began to tense, to squeeze ever so slightly.
Sensing something, the Mounty balked. “What am I doing staring into a dark cab in the middle of the night on a lonely highway?” He asked himself. He stepped back off the running board and began talking with Bear again, using him as a shield.
“I’ve reconsidered your offer,” the cop remarked.
The two of them walked back to the patrol car where they made some sort of a deal. Devin pushed the safety in on the pistol and Ramielle finally exhaled.
A minute later, Bear returned and fired up the diesel engine. The patrol car u-turned and went back down the lonely highway, disappearing into the darkness from whence it came.
Chapter Twenty
“Wake up!”
Devin rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Wake up! We’re here!”
“Goldstein?” Devin asked still half asleep.
“No, Fairbanks,” explained Ramielle.
Devin sat up on the bunk and scanned the bright landscape beaming in through the windshield. They were the only vehicle in the middle of a large swath of gravel. Dark spruce trees lined the borders of the parking lot. The sky above was clear and blue.
“What do we do now?” Ramielle asked. “I think the Bear left us.”
“He’ll come back. He wouldn’t leave his rig for long.”
“I can’t believe we’re here. We made it. We are in Alaska! I’ve always wanted to come here to see the igloos and the penguins. When can we see the penguins?”
“Penguins?” Devin asked with a chuckle. “We’re not quite home yet. We’ve got about two hundred and fifty kilometers to go.”
Click! The sound of the door handle startled the two of them but it was only Bear. He brought donuts and coffee.
“Breakfast is served,” he announced as he handed them a wrinkled paper sack and a leaky, gaia-friendly, triple-cupped coffee to Devin. Ramielle snatched a glazed donut from the bag.
“Is this really Fairbanks?” Devin asked.
“Yep,” Bear answered.
“Can we see it?” Ramielle asked.
“Nope. I’m sorry to say that I’ve not been paid to give you a tour of this fair city. There isn’t much left here, anyway, just an army base and a few government buildings.”
“What do we do now?” Devin asked as he sipped the bitter coffee while trying to keep it from leaking.
“I hand you over to a bush pilot. He should be here any minute. I think I see him now.”
Ahead, a lumberjack caricature appeared strolling towards Bear’s rig. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and had a full red beard.
“That’s him,” Bear said. “This is where we part ways. It was a pleasure smuggling you. Thanks for not shooting anybody or making things difficult.”
“The pleasure was all ours. Thank you for your help.”
“Good luck to you. Now, if you don’t mind, please get out of my rig. I’ve got a delivery to make. There’s twenty five tons of government cheese in the back and someone’s gotta take this crap. Then I got a backhaul.”
“Just out of curiosity, what are you hauling back?” Devin asked.
“Government documents. Stuff they don’t want destroyed but don’t want found either so they keep it moving in the back of trucks. Know what I mean?”
“What kind of documents?” Ramielle asked as she gathered her things.
“Ever hear of Iran-Contra?” Bear asked with a wink.
Devin and Ramielle with Mercurius hopped out of the cab. Bear fired up the engines, slipped the titanic diesel into gear and it rolled away kicking up a cloud of gray dust as it disappeared into the spruce trees. Devin wondered if he would ever see Bear, the free-agent smuggler again. Probably not, was his guess.
The bush pilot escorted them to an adjacent airstrip and they piled into his small, rickety plane.
“How old is this thing?” Ramielle asked.
“One hundred and thirty years young,” the pilot responded.
“I don’t think anything a hundred and thirty years old should be flying,” she exclaimed a moment before Devin shoved her in.
The plane’s propellers whirled to life. The roaring engines made it too loud to speak so they flew without conversation as the pilot took them southwest. They passed over oceans of spruce, waves of gentle hills and countless, meandering rivers and rivulets fed by the melting snows of the great Alaska range.
In three hours, a great lake came in to view, Lake Minchumina. The plane began its wobbly descent. It skimmed the glassy surface of the lake. Then its pontoons plowed into the water, braking and slowing the plane. The propeller roared as the craft made its way to a dock on the northern shore. When enough momentum was built up, the pilot eased off the throttle and deftly guided the craft to a gentle rest alongside the dock.
Ramielle and Devin stepped out of the plane and onto the creaking wooden planks of the dock.
They walked down the causeway towards a weathered gray shanty with a moss covered roof.
Devin knocked on the flimsy door. Behind him the engine of the float plane roared back to life and pulled back out into the lake. The door of the shanty creaked open. The bright sun outside rendered the interior completely dark.
“Hello,” Devin called into the shadowy hut. “Hello?” He called again. He looked back to Ramielle and shrugged his shoulders as their float plane took off towards the east behind them.
“Put your hands up!” Came a gravelly voice. Devin’s first instinct was to run but he froze not knowing where he would run too. “I said put your hands up or I’ll pulse you.”
Ramielle slowly backed away from the shack. She dropped her duffle bags but still clung tightly to Mercurius’ cage.
“You there,” continued the voice, “put that thing down and get your hands up or I’ll pulse you too.” Ramielle continued slowly backing away. “Get down on the ground. Put your hands behind your head!”
Ramielle took off running with the carrier swinging violently to and fro with each stride.
Devin started to slowly back away as well. He was not going to go anywhere with any nat.
“Mr. Devin Moore?” asked the voice.
“Yes,” he answered, a mere fraction of a second before he intended to flee for his life into the woods.
“I have a question for you.”
“What do you want?” asked Devin.
“Did you bring me any of that government cheese?”
“What?” Devin asked. Then the recognition of the voice brought a wide grin to his face. “Roth? Is that you?”
“It is me.”
“You’re a bastard. Ramielle, come back! It’s okay. It’s just Roth!” Devin shouted.
Ramielle was still running, flailing poor Mercurius about as she made her way down the shoreline.
“Everything’s okay!” Devin shouted.
“You’ve had quite a trip,” Roth observed.
“We have.”
“How’s your head?”
“It feels fine, now.”
“Come on in. Sit down. Take five.”
“Is it safe here?”
“Not really. Not for long, anyway. The dragonflies will be dropping in to check things out in about fifteen minutes or so. The great thing about Alaska is that it’s so god damn big that NaPol can’t be everywhere at once.” Devin shook Roth’s hand, took a seat, and caught Roth up on the events of their journey.
“And this must be your Oriental friend?” Roth asked, insensitively.
“Excuse me?” Ramielle asked, having just appeared in the doorway.
“He’s teasing you,” Devin explained.
“Is that really Mr. Roth?” she asked.
“It is me. In the flesh. And who is this little guy?” Roth asked, gesturing towards the carrier still in Ramielle’s grip.
“This is Mercurius.”
Roth stepped forward, cautiously opened the carrier and removed the limp but frazzled cat.
“Good kitty,” Roth assured as he stroked Mercurius’ black, shiny fur. The cat licked his wrist. “What a clever way to pack a lunch,” he observed.
Un-amused, Ramielle dropped the carrier and snatched the cat from Roth’s hands.
“I’m here to guide you back to Goldstein. It should be an adventure with all the nats prowling around. Dragonflies have been patrolling every hour or so. There’s even a drone up there somewhere right now. They’re so damn small you can’t even see them. Hackers are reporting there’s eleven spy satellites trained on Goldstein, too. All the eyes are on Alaska. It’s the center of their world right now. There’s something big coming.”
“How long will it take us to get back?”
“I figure about three days. But it could be six, depending.”
“Depending on what?”
“Depending on the route we take. We want to avoid the nats as much as possible. Here, put these on…” Roth tossed them each ponchos made of a thin, metallic fabric. They both slipped them over their heads and cinched them at the waist with velcro.
“Push that button on the sleeve. Right there,” Roth advised.
Devin pressed the button and the poncho’s hue instantly changed to match the shadows of the hut.
“It’s diode silk,” Roth explained. “The fabric in them blocks your heat signature, too. They’ll have a tough time spotting us with these.”
“What other gadgets did you bring?”
“Let’s see,” Roth continued, “water, rations, wetsuits, a beacon in case we get in trouble, oh, and some explosives.”
“What about guns?”
“No guns.”
“Why not?” Devin asked.
“Guns are not a good choice against nats. They know how to handle people with guns.”
“Is this army stuff?”
Roth laughed. “No. They’ve got cloaks too but they’re nothing like these. This is high end Goldstein gear.”
Off in the distance, they could hear the beat of the approaching dragonflies.
“We should get going,” Roth advised.
“What about my duffel bags?” asked Ramielle.
“We’ll hide them in the woods. We can come back for them when it’s all over,” Roth replied. “But they’ve got helicopters and tanks. What does Goldstein have? I’m not sure I wanna follow you guys there.”
“Relax,” said Roth as he pulled up his hood and walked to the door. He took a moment and gazed out over the great lake, soaking up the majestic view of the great white titans: Forakker and Denali, far away to the southeast. “Goldstein’s been waiting for this for a long time. They’re ready. It’s too late for you to turn back, anyway.”
Chapter Twenty One
The distant thumping of the dragonflies gave the threesome plenty of advance warning. As soon as one of them heard the faint beats, they would scurry a few feet off the trail and into the thick canopy of spruce and birch trees. Their diode-silk cloaks were highly effective camouflage, and in the trees even their motion was nearly imperceptible to any nat patrols. Proceeding with extreme caution was Roth’s tactic as he guided them through the taiga. Direct confrontation with NaPol was to be avoided.
They walked mostly in silence, plodding through the narrow trails, crawling over felled logs, double-timing it across open meadows where patrols might hear them or spot their blurry signatures. Ramielle had hoped there might be horses for them to ride. She loved horses but, to her disappointment, she was informed that horses don’t do well in the bitter cold winters of Alaska and horse-sized diode-silk ponchos were not abundantly available, anyway.
For Roth, beating the wilderness was an old familiar game. He had smuggled many tons of Goldstein manufactures through the wilds by dogsled, all terrain vehicle, or on foot, delivering his payloads safely to waiting boat planes and tractor trailers. Getting caught would have resulted in very serious consequences, but he knew that the chances of a well-camouflaged, experienced traveler stumbling into a Trade Enforcement Agent were fantastically slim in the vastness of the Alaskan bush. It was something akin to two bumble bees bumping into each other in an area as big as a hundred football fields. But now, the area was teeming with NaPol recon patrols, listening posts, cameras, and drones and dragonflies circling above. He had to be extra careful.
Roth had made hundreds of millions of dollars as a smuggler. But he knew, as all smugglers know, that his spectacular profits were a direct result of the prohibitions on trade enforced by the very agents he was seeking to evade. Without trade enforcement and chance of arrest, Roth’s job would become riskless and mundane. Every hick with a pickup truck would get into the ‘transportation’ business. Soon, the exorbitant profits would be driven down to nearly nothing. Roth was exploiting the smuggler’s paradox— the biggest proponents of prohibition are always the smugglers.
Roth contemplated his future after the Liberation Event. If NaPol routed the colony, he would be out of work. If Goldstein executed i
ts plan, the NaPol presence would be destroyed and he would still be out of work. A victory for either side meant the loss of his living. The only way he could keep his job would be for maintenance of the status quo and that wasn’t going to happen.
Roth loved making money more than money itself. He lived frugally and tucked his profits away in overseas accounts. After his smuggling operation was destroyed, he planned to make his way to one of the relatively free countries left in the world like Vietnam or Angola. He would live on the coast somewhere and live off his savings, at least until he figured out a new way to earn huge profits.
The Goldsteiners had no plans of escaping to start anew in far away lands. There would be no more running and hiding in the frontier. There were no frontiers left to run too anyway. They decided that this was to be their final stand. They would live free or die. Triumph or Gotterdamerung.
The threesome spent their first twighlight nestled within a perimeter of motion sensors, snuggling their heat packets.
“I can’t sleep,” Ramielle complained. “Does it stay light all night? I hate these damn mosquitoes. What was that noise? Are there grizzly bears out there?”
“Yes,” Roth replied.
“Will they attack us?” Ramielle asked.
“Probably,” Roth answered. “Now, try to get some sleep.”
Ramielle curled into a fetal position in her sleeping bag, nervously staring out into the 2 A.M. twilight.
“Don’t tease her,” said Devin.
“Don’t worry,” Roth continued, “when they come we’ll sick your cat on them.”
Ramielle covered her eyes with the sleeping bag.
“Roth,” Devin asked.
“Yeah?”
“If you don’t mind…what makes you the most money when you smuggle?”
“That’s easy, nano-processors,” Roth answered. “Millions and millions and millions of them. It’s Goldstein’s number one export.”
“Who buys them? What are they used for?” asked Devin.
“They’re used in everything, anything that uses computations or processing. They’re everywhere. They control car engines. They’re in the roads. They’re in food and building materials. They’re embedded in window glass to control opacity. Doctors use them for pico-surgeries— just swallow a pill and a little machine works its way through your body and takes out the disease. They’re in rockets and cameras and satellite guidance systems. They control the flight of airplanes and the navigation of ships and the trajectory of bullets. They’re in clothing and prosthetics and even embedded in people’s brains— just like yours, I might add. They’re the fastest, most reliable, most advanced, smallest, cheapest processors available. Goldstein chips are ten years ahead of the world. Everyone wants them, especially the Chinese because they’re the ones that make all that shit.”
Goldstein Page 19
