Shelter From the Storm

by Peter Sexton

  “Tune in tonight when Nightly News Political Correspondent John Sebastian presents the evidence of this horrendous conspiracy perpetrated against the American people.

  “Our source, Miranda August, the daughter of Edward August, was gunned down and killed just minutes ago while trying to deliver this evidence to Mr. Sebastian.”

  General Foster turned off the television and sat down at his desk. He used his private line to arrange for a helicopter so he could rendezvous with the convoy of trucks. Then he took several sheets of paper from the top drawer, retrieved his Parker fountain pen, and proceeded to write a letter to each of his grown children. He feared this business was going to turn out bad, and he wanted his children to know the truth.

  Letters written, General Foster retrieved his service revolver from the top drawer of his desk, holstered it, then rose to his feet.

  On his way from his office, he handed the letters to his secretary. “See to it these are posted immedi- ately.”

  “Yes, Sir.” He was walking out into the corridor, when she said, “Sir?”

  He stopped, turned.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  After a long moment, he put a tired smile on his face, and said, “Yes, fine.” He followed her eyes to his holstered weapon. He nodded. “I’ll be out of my office the rest of the day. You’ll take care of the letters for me?”

  His secretary frowned, confusion on her face.

  “Of course, Sir. I’ll take care of it right away.”

  “Thank you,” General Foster said.

  Seventy-Five

  Jimmy helped Sarah out of the Expedition, and together they helped Miranda, who groaned and stopped them before they pulled her completely from the vehicle.

  “Just give me a minute to get my breath,” she said.

  “Take your time,” Jimmy told her. Sarah leaned in through the open door and ran her hand through Miranda’s hair.

  “How you doing?” Sarah asked.

  “It feels like I have some broken ribs,” Miranda said. She rubbed her chest gingerly. “I thought those vests were supposed to offer more protection than that.”

  “I think it did great,” Sarah said. “You’re alive, right?”

  “We’ll get you looked at,” Jimmy said. “Does it hurt bad?”

  “Feels like my chest is on fire,” Miranda said. And for the first time she glanced around and noticed they were parked behind a small emergency medical clinic.

  “My friend Bobby’ll take a look at you, see that you aren’t gonna check out on us.”

  Miranda flashed back to the parking lot of the racetrack, the explosions of gunfire, all Jimmy’s fallen men. It made her angry; it made her sad.

  “I’m sorry about all your friends,” Miranda said. But even as the words issued from her lips she felt it was an inadequate gesture.

  “You’re a friend of Sarah’s,” Jimmy said, “makes you family. I’m gonna talk with my father when this is all over, see maybe we need to send someone a message about what went down at the track. Maybe pay a little retribution.” He turned reflective, though never dropping the seriousness from his face. “Try not to feel bad about what went down. There’s no blame to be had here.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to make it up to you.”

  “Just make sure you’re always there when Sarah needs you. Fair enough?”

  “Of course,” Miranda said.

  Jimmy took Miranda gently by the arm, waited for Sarah to take the other, then together they helped her into the building.

  Just minutes later, they were all in a private room talking with Jimmy’s friend, Dr. Robert Vickroy. The doctor was quite tall and angular. He ran his empty hand through his thinning hair, as he said, “You were very lucky, young lady. Severe bruising, but no broken bones. Could have been a lot worse.” He turned to Jimmy and said, “The Kevlar vest saved her life.”

  Jimmy nodded, smiled at Sarah.

  Dr. Vickroy said, “I’ll give her some Vicodin for the pain and wrap her chest. She just needs to take it easy for a while.”

  “Thanks, Bobby,” Jimmy said. “I owe you one.”

  ###

  Dr. Robert Vickroy left the three of them alone then. Jimmy hugged Sarah, kissed her on the forehead.

  He said, “You take care of our friend here, I need to get going. I’ll see you tonight back at the house.”

  Miranda looked up sharply, anxious and a little confused. “Wait,” she said, as Jimmy was turning to leave. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna meet up with your man and we’re gonna track down those trucks.”

  Miranda knew Steven had gone off with a couple of the men who work for Jimmy to see if they could figure out where exactly the trucks were headed.

  “Did he find them?” Miranda asked. “Does he know where they are?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “When they got to the lab in Camarillo, the trucks were already long gone. We’re gonna have to head east into Arizona, hopefully catch us a break.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Miranda insisted, as she hopped off the stainless steel table in Dr. Vickroy’s exam room. She winced as her feet hit the floor, but immediately tried to hide it from everyone. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  Sarah: “You’re in no condition to—”

  “I’m going with him,” Miranda insisted. “I’ll go nuts just sitting here worrying about them.” It took all her strength to keep tears out of her eyes. “They’re risking their lives for me. I have to go.”

  Jimmy Gemignani glanced across at Sarah, who shrugged.

  Miranda started toward the door. “We’re wasting time,” she said. “Let’s go. We can argue about it in the car.”

  ###

  Jimmy Gemignani was behind the wheel of his personal vehicle, a black Cadillac Escalade, traveling at close to ninety miles per hour, leading a caravan of three Ford SUVs east toward Arizona. They had caught up to Steven Trammel and the other men in Blythe, California. Now, with everyone together in Jimmy’s Escalade, they traveled several miles in silence. They were on I-10 speeding past the slower cars they came upon.

  Miranda thought about the past few days. Every- thing she knew, everything that had been her life up to now, was gone. She glanced over at Steven Trammel. Almost everything. She took his hand into hers and squeezed it gently. He squeezed hers back and interlocked their fingers.

  Jimmy’s cell phone rang at the same time Miranda heard the helicopter flying overhead. He listened for a few moments. Then: “They spotted the trucks.”

  Trammel: “Who was that?”

  Miranda tried unsuccessfully to look out the window and find the helicopter. It must be directly above us, she thought.

  “A friend I have who flies for channel five news. He figures that by helping us find the trucks they’ll be the first ones to get the story.”

  Jimmy made a call to one of the Ford SUVs and spoke quickly. “They turned south about twenty-one miles past highway ninety-five. We’re gonna fall back. You guys move into the lead. When I give you the word, get to the front of their convoy and stop the lead truck. You hear me? I want that fucker out of commission.” He listened for a beat. “Good.”

  Jimmy glanced into the rearview mirror. He said to Steven, “When we reach the trucks, once you’ve confirmed it’s definitely them, we’re pulling back. We need to keep you and Miranda out of the news.”

  Trammel said, “I can help. You don’t need to worry about me. My arm’s fine.”

  “That’s not it my friend. My guys will take care of the trucks. We need to make sure that nothing happens to you and Miranda.”

  Trammel nodded. Although he obviously wanted desperately to be part of the action, he understood that keeping himself and Miranda safe and out of the news was of the utmost importance.

  No one said anything more for several minutes. Once they had turned south and were speeding down the two-lane road, Jimmy’s cell phone rang again. He listened for several mom
ents before saying, “It’s them,” and ending the call.

  Steven: “How can they be sure? Shouldn’t I have a look and confirm it?”

  “That was my friend, Billy. He said in about another ten miles he’s gonna hit restricted airspace.”

  “Restricted airspace?” Trammel said.

  Jimmy nodded. “It’s gotta be the deserted mili- tary base. We’ve got to—”

  Miranda: “There they are!”

  They were about a mile behind the trucks now but gaining fast. Inside the cab of the Escalade, the air buzzed with anxiety. Miranda could almost hear it crackle like static, feel it crawling over the skin on the back of her neck.

  As they neared the trucks, Jimmy said, “Well?” though the tone of his voice said that he already believed they were the right trucks. He wanted positive identification from Trammel before they proceeded.

  Nodding, Trammel said. “It’s them.”

  Jimmy opened his phone, pressed a button, waited. Then said: “We’re losing daylight. Do it. Stop the fuckers!”

  Seventy-Six

  The gunshots sounded muffled from the cabin of Jimmy Gemignani’s Escalade, but Miranda could still tell that his men were using automatic weapons. Almost immediately the lead truck in the convoy skidded and jackknifed before flipping onto its side and grinding to a stop. Unable to stop in time or maneuver around safely, the second and third trucks crashed into it. Only the fourth truck was able to stop without joining the mayhem of smashing metal.

  Two men, dressed in black army fatigues, jumped out of the truck and opened fire. The gunfight lasted less than a minute, but left both soldiers and one of jimmy’s men on the roadside, crumpled and lifeless.

  The sound of random spurts of gunfire floated through the air like blasts of sporadic applause. The metallic screams of the bullets ricocheting off the vehicles pierced Miranda’s senses.

  “Keep your heads down,” Jimmy yelled.

  Steven Trammel pulled out his revolver and held it at his side.

  Miranda watched as one of the soldiers from the second truck came into view, hustling around to the side of the fifty-three foot trailer. He removed a small device from a black bag hanging from his shoulder, attached it to the side of the truck, then hurried toward the next trailer and placed another device. Once both the devices had been set, the soldier started hustling away from the dirt road they were on. Miranda was about to ask what he was doing when Jimmy started yelling, as he forced his Escalade into reverse and floored the accelerator.

  “Get down!”

  The words had barely left Jimmy’s mouth when two horrendous explosions ripped through the second and third trucks and a giant fireball bled clouds of thick black smoke into the sky. The force of the explosions threw the Escalade sideways, imploding the windows and nearly causing it to flip.

  “Holy shit!” Miranda screamed.

  Trammel: “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Miranda said.

  “What the fuck’s he doing?” Jimmy yelled.

  “Destroying evidence,” Trammel announced. “They know they can’t hide it now. Their only option is to destroy everything if they can.”

  “That’s fuckin’ crazy!”

  The soldier was coming back, heading toward the fourth trailer.

  Trammel: “He’s gonna blow the other truck.”

  Jimmy said to Trammel, “Hand me that AR-15,” as he turned the Escalade around and tried to move between the soldier and his target.

  Miranda hadn’t noticed the semi-automatic rifle until this very moment. She didn’t know if its presence made her feel safer or not.

  Sarah, sounding frantic, said, “Jimmy?”

  “It’s all right, baby. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  Sarah pleaded, “Please, Jimmy! Don’t go out there.”

  “I’ll be all right, baby. Nothing’s gonna happen to me.”

  “Please!”

  The soldier had almost reached the trailer. Trammel took the rifle back from Jimmy. He said, “There’s no time.”

  He was out of the Escalade and moving around the front of the vehicle before Miranda could utter a protest. The soldier drew a pistol from a holster on the side of his leg and fired three shots toward Trammel. Trammel amazed Miranda by doing a tuck-and-roll maneuver and coming up shooting. Even with his injured arm he had managed to cock the weapon while avoiding the soldier’s bullets. It was a quick burst of shots, but it was enough to put the soldier down.

  Miranda screamed, “Steven!” She couldn’t help herself. She realized she had started to cry. “Oh, God!”

  Steven Trammel climbed back into the Escalade next to Miranda, who took him into her arms in a death-grip embrace. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, could only hold him tightly to her, as if she planned to never let go.

  They were beside the cab of the lead truck now. It looked like half of the driver’s body had been crushed beneath the overturned vehicle.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Sarah said. “Jimmy!” More frantic now. She grabbed Jimmy’s arm and held it firmly.

  “We’ll be okay,” Jimmy said. “Don’t worry, baby.”

  Miranda hesitated before letting Steven from her embrace. She gave him one last squeeze. “I love you, Steven.”

  “I know,” was all Trammel said, before leaving the Escalade with Jimmy.

  Miranda watched from where she sat. The spurts of gunfire had been replaced by the thwup thwup thwup of the oscillating helicopter rotors overhead. Her head was spinning. She felt like she was in a dream; she felt like she was in a movie theater watching a blockbuster action film in surround sound; she felt like she was going to be sick.

  A gray-haired soldier in camouflage fatigues started crawling headfirst out of the wrecked cab. Trammel fired a quick burst of shots near the soldier, the bullets spitting up sand. The soldier continued out...slowly. It occurred to Miranda that they were probably televising live from the helicopter overhead. The soldier rose to his knees with his hands up over his head. One of Jimmy’s men appeared, spoke to Steven briefly, then approached the soldier and searched him for weapons. He removed a large pistol from the holster on the soldier’s hip and threw it aside. Miranda could see blood running down the side of the soldier’s face from a severe gash on the side of his scalp.

  “That’s why he’s not putting up a fight,” she said to no one in particular. He’s probably dazed from the crash.

  Jimmy’s man used some kind of white plastic fastener to bind the old soldier’s hands behind his back.

  Everyone got out of the Escalade then. Steven kept the soldier at gunpoint. Now, everyone on their feet, Trammel said, “Why don’t we open the two remaining trucks and see what you’ve got here?”

  The soldier said nothing for a long time, simply stared at Trammel. Then: “You just did more to hurt this country than you can ever imagine, son.”

  “Is that so,” Trammel said, glancing at the soldier’s name, then at the bars sewn at the top portion of his sleeve, “General Foster?”

  The soldier stared silently.

  They all moved to the back of the overturned truck. Jimmy pointed at the trailer doors. “Open it,” he instructed one of his men. The man went away for a moment then returned with some large bolt-cutters. Less than a minute later they were looking at hundreds of sealed brown boxes. Jimmy stepped forward, cut open one of the cartons, and removed a small white vacuum-sealed pouch. Printed on the side of it were the words “Beef Stew.” He tossed it to Miranda who caught it in both hands. She stared at the package for a long time, turned it around in her hands. Below the words was an alphanumeric code like the ones on the lists Sarah had identified from the page of notes.

  She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. As she was hand- ing it back to Jimmy, she heard the arrival of the second and third news helicopters.

  Jimmy’s cell phone rang and he answered it and listened. After he closed it, he said to Miranda, “We need to get you out of here. Cops are on their way. We wanna make sure you
’re gone before they get here.”

  Miranda knew he was right. At this moment, the world thought she was dead. That fact brought with it a certain degree of safety. There was no need to jeopardize that now. That safety would diminish and possibly disappear altogether if she were to be identified and questioned by the police or the FBI.

  “I’ll stay behind,” Jimmy said. He pointed at the white-haired soldier and said, “Make sure our friend Gomer Pyle here doesn’t try and talk his way out of this.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right, Jimmy?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah, baby. Don’t you fret your pretty little head over me. I’ll be fine. We’ll just wait here for the FBI, then Gomer’s gonna sing like a fuckin’ canary, tell them everything he knows about what’s going on. Ain’t that right, Gomer?”

  Seventy-Seven

  Early the next morning, together with Sarah and Steven, Miranda sat in Jimmy Gemignani’s living room with the television tuned to CBS. All the major networks had interrupted regular programming and had been on the air with the story since the first helicopter started filming. Jimmy still hadn’t return- ed home. He had called Sarah two hours earlier and explained that he was still in with the federal agents going over all the evidence. He had assured Sarah that neither he nor any individual in his organization would be facing any charges for incidents that occurred earlier in the day in Arizona.

  They watched as the voice of news anchor John Sebastian reported all the details of the event to the viewing public. The screen showed an aerial view of the four trucks (or what was left of them) sur- rounded by a sea of law enforcement vehicles, both marked and unmarked. Local, state, and federal agencies were all represented. An army of investiga- tive personnel was milling around the scene.

  The area surrounding the crash site was lit up like an amusement park. It could have been the middle of the day out there, instead of the middle of the night.