by Jeff Gulvin
Harrison nodded.
‘For how long?’
‘Seven and three.’
The Voyageur squinted at Ghost Town. ‘That man, right there, was in Angola. He don’t recall seeing you.’
Harrison looked across at Ghost Town, who had fixed him with a stare now.
‘You know something, bubba,’ Harrison said. ‘I don’t recall seeing him either.’
‘Who were your buddies?’ Ghost Town asked him.
‘I hung out with Mad Mike Moore’s crowd in A block.’
‘I was in D block.’
‘Then you ain’t gonna know me, are ya?’ Harrison had his hand at his boot top. ‘You may not even know Moore, but I figure you know Klein.’
For a long moment, Ghost Town thinned his eyes. ‘You knew Klein?’
‘Everybody knew Klein, bubba. Even Mad Mike was scared of Klein.’
Sidetrack set his bottle down in the dirt. ‘Who the fuck was Klein?’
‘White Knights leader.’
The Voyageur leaned back on his palms. ‘Forget this shit, man. We gotta talk about the pick-up, man. And then we gotta blow.’
Sidetrack nodded. ‘The 2-18’s heading north.’
Ghost Town was still staring at Harrison. He got up and walked round behind him. All he had to do was to run a finger down his spine and he would feel the wire. Harrison was tense, ready to pull his guns and try and shoot his way out. He could feel sweat in his hair and a clamminess on his skin, but he sat where he was and looked into the fire. Ghost Town squatted, resting his elbows on his thighs. ‘So you were in Angola and you crawled tunnels in ’Nam.’ His voice was a whisper. ‘Tunnel Rats are rare, brother.’ He patted Harrison on the shoulder. ‘Real rare.’
The three leaders moved away from the fire and consulted together. Ten minutes after that, The Voyageur and Ghost Town melted into the darkness.
Hooch was watching Harrison. ‘Didn’t seem to like you a whole bunch,’ he said.
Harrison made a face and spat tobacco juice.
They heard the whistle of the 2-18 heading north and then Sidetrack walked back into the pool of light cast by the fire. He squatted on his haunches and reached for his mescal bottle. He stared into the flames and his eyes were dull, black and cold. He did not say anything to anyone, just quietly sipped on the mescal as if deep in thought: Limpet rolled a cigarette and passed it to him. Sidetrack took it without speaking and lit it from a stick in the fire. Harrison was watching him out of half-closed eyes, lying on his side now, facing the fire, with the wind fresh at his back.
‘So this is a big deal, then?’ Hooch asked.
Sidetrack glanced at him. ‘We got to go back to Wichita Falls.’
‘Then West Virginia?’
‘That’s what the man said.’
Harrison took a long pull on his cigarette and let the smoke drift in the wind. ‘What’s in West Virginia?’
Sidetrack looked directly at him. ‘The Mountaineer Militia.’
Jean Carey was driving the truck close to the Texas/ Louisiana border at Kildare Junction, when Harrison’s cellphone rang. She picked it up immediately and pulled off the road. It was days since he had contacted her and she had been wandering aimlessly, toying with the idea of heading back to New Orleans. ‘Hello?’ she said.
‘Jean.’ It was not Harrison, but Matt Penny’s voice.
‘Hello, Matthew.’
‘Has John been in contact with you?’
‘Not since the last time.’
‘Where are you?’
‘A place called Kildare Junction.’
Penny paused as if thinking. ‘Drive to Dallas,’ he said. ‘I’ll meet you at the airport.’
‘Why, is John in trouble?’
‘I don’t know, Jean. But there’s been a development.’
He hung up and Jean laid the phone down on the bench seat beside her. She sat by the roadside for a moment, then hauled the wheel round and headed south for the interstate.
As dawn broke, the Southern Blacks were up and heading back to the railroad. Sidetrack had been quiet all night, preoccupied it seemed, and the others gave him a wide berth. Even Limpet, who had got his name because Sidetrack was never without him, kept his distance. Harrison could feel the tension. Something had happened with the other two leaders—something which had made Sidetrack really pause for thought. Perhaps it was just this deal. Hooch had told him it must be serious if they had to head all the way back to the weapons dump to collect the goods themselves. Normally, whatever was being freighted would be routed to them. Whatever it was for, Whiskey Six wanted Sidetrack taking personal charge of the delivery.
They hopped a grainer heading for New Mexico and shared a car which stank of rotten alfalfa. Harrison sat close to the door and wondered how he could get word to the field office. He couldn’t. There was no way he could leave the group long enough to make a phone call without raising suspicion. He pursed his lips, sipped water and felt the comforting chill of gunmetal against his shin.
Sidetrack got up from where he was sitting and came over. He stood next to Harrison and looked down at him. ‘I need you riding shotgun, Four-String,’ he said.
Harrison got to his feet. ‘Shotgun?’
‘Yeah.’
Harrison thinned his eyes. ‘What about Limpet?’
Sidetrack shook his head. ‘No good. He don’t got the experience I need for this one.’
Harrison furrowed his brow. ‘You’re gonna have to explain a little better, brother.’
Sidetrack leaned against the doorjamb and looked him in the eye. ‘We’ve got a long journey ahead of us,’ he said. ‘All the way to West Virginia. If I was humping shit that far, usually I’d pass it on to other sections of the outfit. Break it into smaller chunks. But this seems to be a rush job.’ He broke off again and looked at him. ‘It’s big, too. We each got a box of C-4 to shift.’
‘That’s got to be one hundred pounds, man.’ Harrison frowned. ‘You could blow up a city with that.’
‘Why d’you think we’re shipping it to West Virginia.’
Harrison looked keenly at him then, his sixth sense tingling. ‘Why you telling me all this, man? I thought I was on probation.’
‘You are, brother.’ Sidetrack let the words hang for a moment. ‘But I need you riding shotgun. I want you on my shoulder at all times. We’ve got to cross a whole buncha states and end up in turf I don’t know real well.’ He paused. ‘Things ain’t what they used to be. The government, the cops and everybody are on high alert. We’ve got to be on our guard.’
Harrison drew a stiff breath through his nose. ‘Why me?’
‘Because you got balls of steel, man.’ Sidetrack patted him on the shoulder and showed that wicked tooth. ‘You must have, to do what you do.’
Jean got to Dallas that evening, parked up and then crossed to the terminal building, where she met Penny and Swartz. They were with two other men in business suits and Penny introduced them as FBI agents from the Dallas field office. Swartz rode with the agents and Penny climbed behind the wheel of Harrison’s pick-up. He was wearing a faded baseball hat and a T-shirt. Jean climbed into the passenger seat next to him.
‘John’s not been in touch,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘Not a word.’
Penny chewed his lip.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure I can tell you.’
‘Matthew, if it involves John, I don’t think you can avoid it.’
Penny looked sideways at her then. ‘Did something happen between you two?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Jean.’
She glanced through the windshield. ‘If you must know, yes it did.’
Penny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and started the engine. ‘We’re driving to Wichita Falls.’
‘What’s at Wichita Falls?’
He looked at her again as he eased the truck out of the parking space. ‘A terminal for stolen military hardware.’<
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They drove north-west on the interstate as far as Fort Worth and then headed for Wichita Falls on 287. Penny explained to her what had happened in London and what had been discovered.
‘A murder in the US Embassy led to this?’ She shook her head.
‘They uncovered a whole barrelful of bad apples,’ Penny told her. ‘We’re mounting a massive surveillance operation. That’s why Andy’s gone to the field office in Dallas. We’ve got a joint terrorism task force running here in Texas.’
‘How does all this affect John?’
‘I don’t know that it does as yet. But we’ve received information from London, which we have to act on now. If it comes out, then we’ll publicise the London connection. It won’t make any difference to John.’ He looked at the cellphone, which lay on the bench seat between them. ‘Anyways, maybe you’ll get a call from him.’ He winked at her then. ‘I figure he won’t wanna go too long without getting in touch.’
Jean sat back, the window rolled down and her arm resting on the ledge. Night had fallen, but the air was warm and balmy, and the breeze ruffled her hair. ‘I was on my way back to New Orleans,’ she said. ‘Well, almost. I’d just about made my mind up.’
Penny looked across at her. ‘Were you gonna go back to London?’
‘No. Not yet, at least.’ She sighed then. ‘I will have to think about it, though. At some point soon.’
Penny was quiet. ‘You don’t sound too enthusiastic about the prospect.’
‘Oh I am, in one way, at least. I miss my job, the hospital, working with the children.’
Penny nodded. ‘But you’ve got unfinished business here.’
‘Yes.’
‘John must’ve told you, Jean. The chances of us catching anyone for your son’s murder are slim to nonexistent.’
‘I know. But I can live in hope.’
‘You can, and at least you know why now.’
‘Yes. That helps. It wasn’t just random or racist. John said he would’ve just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘It’s why all the hobos have been killed,’ Penny said. ‘The FTRA don’t want anyone busting in on their operation. It must make them a fortune.’
‘Who is stealing the weapons?’
‘Soldiers, marines, national guardsmen.’
‘Why?’
‘For money, I guess.’ Penny shifted down a gear to overtake a truck. ‘A lot of them are sympathetic to some of the militia or patriot causes, though. Timothy McVeigh, the guy that blew up the federal building in Oklahoma City, was a model soldier.’ He sighed. ‘But we know from London that money is involved. Apparently, there’s a couple of European Nazi groups who are helping fund it. God only knows where they get their money from.’
‘But why do it in the first place? What do they hope to achieve?’
‘I don’t know.’ Penny wagged his head from side to side. ‘They think the United States has deviated from its Constitution, the spirit of what was written down.’
Jean frowned. ‘But that was two hundred years ago. Things change, alter, evolve.’
Penny laughed then. ‘Try telling that to a Missouri Breakman who thinks a driver’s licence is the abrogation of his right to travel.’
They drove on through the night and Jean dozed with her head against the window. Penny kept on Highway 287 as far as Bowie, then he pulled over and took a nap. Jean woke with the dawn, saw him dozing and crossed the road to the gas station. She washed her face in the ladies’ room, and bought two cups of coffee and some muffins.
Penny was rubbing his eyes when she got back to the truck. He smiled at her and tapped the dashboard. ‘We’re gonna need to gas up, anyway.’ He took the lid off his coffee and sipped it, the steam rising against his face. ‘You know, Jean. Nobody gets to do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Ride along with the FBI.’
Jean smiled then. ‘I thought you were riding along with me.’
Penny laughed. ‘I oughtta find a motel and let you out. Pick you up later.’
‘Why? What’re you going to do?’
‘Just drive by a couple of locations and report back to Dallas. After that, we’ll put up an airplane.’
‘Then it’s a good job I’m here with you,’ she said. ‘It’s better cover—a man and a woman together.’
Penny smiled at her. ‘And you’d fight like an alley cat if I tried to leave you behind. Right?’
‘Ask Johnny Buck.’
Harrison rode shotgun. Sidetrack was focused. Last night he had drunk nothing but water, and this morning, as they rolled towards Wichita Falls, he stood by the open door and stared into the distance. Limpet and the others had noticed the change too; Limpet directing the odd look Harrison’s way now and again. But nobody commented on it. Harrison stood and watched Sidetrack watching the world go by, and chewed over his situation. He was still wearing the wire. There was no way of taking it off now without being seen and he had no way of contacting Jean and his case agents. He was underground, alone, and visions of the past rolled back to him: Ray Martinez and his mortal fear of snakes.
He wore the Beretta concealed in his waistband, having shifted it out of his pack. The snub-nosed .38 was still stuffed in his boot and his bowie knife was accessible.
They headed due west towards Wichita Falls and the weapons dump. Harrison was working it all through his brain; one hundred pounds of C-4 was a massive amount of explosive. West Virginia: a finger of fear crawled the back of his neck. Half a day’s drive from Washington D.C. and Fachida Harada, the bomber. Somehow, he had to get word out or this could go very bad, very quickly. But Sidetrack was jumpy and suddenly suspicious of everything. He had made such a big deal about wanting him close and then that crack about balls of steel. Was this his first really big test? What was it that The Voyageur and Ghost Town had heard? The Voyageur was right: Tunnel Rats were rare and Whiskey Six would know that. Before Harrison went undercover out here, the militia were the farthest thing from his mind. This was an undercover drugs deal. Coldly, chillingly now, he remembered the picture of him the militia had put out on their websites.
Penny and Jean drove north from Bowie to Ring Gold, then west towards Henrietta. Jean had the window down again and the day was getting hotter. Penny sniffed the air and made a face. ‘There’s one helluva storm coming,’ he said.
Jean looked round at him. ‘You can tell?’
‘Oh, yeah. I spent half my life in Texas, Jean. You get to know when the weather’s gonna change.’
‘A tornado?’
‘No. No. Just a mother of a rainstorm.’ He smiled at her. ‘They think they get rain in New Orleans, but you oughtta see it blowing across the plains.’
Jean leaned out of the window and heard the whistle of a freight train in the distance. She looked north where she could see it, grey and serpent-like, car after car stretching back into the distance. Penny looked across her to where the tracks ran to the north of them. He knew that the road crossed a few miles up ahead. ‘We’ll probably have to wait till that one passes,’ he said.
Jean looked back at the train again and grimaced. ‘That’ll take a little while.’
Penny’s cellphone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and rolled his window up against the noise of the wind. He spoke for a few minutes, then switched the phone off and put it away again. ‘That was Swartz,’ he said. ‘The task force surveillance unit’s been scrambled. We’ve got a lot of bodies on their way up here.’
‘This is a very big deal, then,’ Jean said.
‘Jean, it could be the biggest deal in this country’s history.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t wanna sound melodramatic, but weapons have been going missing from military stores for years. Nobody seems to have done a whole lot about it until now. If they’re being used to arm the militias, then it’s very serious indeed.’
They drove on and Penny was right—they did not make it to the railroad crossing before the locomotive got there. He pulled up, knocked the gearshift into n
eutral and switched off the engine.
‘We’re gonna be here for a while,’ he said. ‘Get out and stretch your legs if you wanna.’
Harrison leaned in the doorway next to Sidetrack, watching the Texas landscape: scrub, dirt and sagebrush. North of them was the dustbowl of Oklahoma, and south, the vast stretch of country between Dallas and Abilene. Wichita Falls was coming up fast and, at that moment, all he could think about was how long it would take them to ship the C-4 to West Virginia. Sidetrack had been silent for most of the journey, not looking at anyone. He seemed lost somewhere in thoughts of his own. Harrison had never witnessed him in this kind of mood before and kept his own counsel unless Sidetrack actually spoke to him. The other three seemed relaxed enough. They lay around the boxcar on their packs, playing cards and joking. Harrison glanced at them now and again, but when they asked him to join the game, he refused.
Sidetrack was standing on the northern side of the car. The door was pulled right back, but the heat was still intense. Harrison wiped sweat from his brow and the back of his neck, and then crossed to the other side. He hauled open the south-facing door to let the wind blow through, and rested his back against the doorjamb. His hair was tied back and the dry heat of the wind prickled his face. The train was crossing a highway and he saw a black Chevy truck parked at the railroad crossing. He smiled as he thought of his own black Chevy and Jean behind the wheel. Then he looked again and saw her face framed in the passenger window. Matt Penny was driving.
Jean watched the train rumble slowly by at no more than fifteen miles an hour. She was thinking of Harrison and wishing he would phone her. Then she saw him standing in the doorway of a boxcar passing right in front of her. ‘Matthew, look, there’s John.’
Penny leaned across her and saw Harrison’s face as the train rolled by. He was half hanging out of the door now, clearly having seen them. Penny opened the driver’s door and stood up in the well. There was nothing he could do; nor was there any way for Harrison to signal to him. He was obviously not alone.
The train passed and the crossing was clear. Penny got back behind the wheel and Jean looked into his face. ‘What’re we gonna do?’
