“Why would there be nuclear material inside the truck? It must be connected to the smaller truck somehow. The driver of that one must be ill also.”
“Most certainly. Do you have any cameras or surveillance at the warehouse?”
“Yes! We do. Let me pull them up.”
“Please call me back if you get anything and get over here quickly. You are at great risk.”
They hung up, and the doctor looked up his cousin’s contact information. He dialed the number.
“Detective Al-Hazi.”
“Muhammad, it is me, your cousin.”
“Cousin Doctor! How are you? Long time no see! As-Salaam-Alaikum!”
“Wa-Alaikum-Salaam to you, cousin.”
“How can I help you today?”
“I need a favor. I have a very serious case of radiation poisoning up here, and I believe there is a truck headed your way that may have caused it.”
“Allah forbid! How in the world?”
“We do not know. It may have come through from Ukraine or Chechnya, and we think it is headed for Izmir. Are there any people you can think of who would want this thing there?”
“Not off the top of my head, but things are changing rapidly around here these days, with the influx of refugees from Iraq and Syria. It is becoming a very dangerous place, indeed. Although, if it is headed here, it may be loaded on a ship. Once it goes out to sea, who knows? Let me do some checking around here. I'll get back to you.”
The doctor walked by Dumitru's room and looked in. He was looking slightly better, but he feared there was no hope for him. The next twelve hours were critical. Valeria and Mrs. Drazov were ill, but stable.
Valeira looked up and said, “Doctor? May I speak freely?”
“Of course, Valeria. You know how I enjoy talking with you.”
They had a good relationship, and the doctor knew that she brought tremendous value to the poor people in Moldova. Most could not afford him or even the transport to get to him. He was also more open to natural remedies than most doctors were. You had to make do in a place like this, what with the limited resources.
“My cousin was once in the healing arts over in Russia. She was there when the Chernobyl accident occurred.”
“Oh my! That must have been devastating.”
“Yes, she survived. Many did, but only by the grace of Almighty God. It was a miracle. They used a special substance on all the people.”
“Is that right? What did they use?”
“Seaweed.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so? How does it work?”
“I'm not entirely sure, but those who dosed up on dried brown and red kelp survived and were healthy afterwards. You need to look into it. God has made many things here for us that are meant for healing.”
“I will do that. How are you feeling?”
“Tired, very tired, but OK. The drip is helping. I am most concerned for Dumitru. I have faith you will figure all this out, Doctor. I have no doubt whatsoever. My God produces many miracles.”
He sensed a peace and calm coming from her, something most people would not have while worrying about this terrible thing that had befallen her. It touched him deeply.
He hustled back to his office and got online. He typed in pubmed.gov, the US national library of medical research and, sure enough, there were several entries on seaweed and radiation. It appeared to be a tremendous detoxifier of iodine and heavy metals, the offshoots of radiation. There were several other articles about how the Japanese had used the substance during WWII in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well. Many used it after Chernobyl. All had had great effect.
The recommended dose was five grams of powdered brown and red kelp per day for moderate exposure. You could also put the leaves directly on the skin to pull out the toxins.
He hurried back over to Valeria's room. “You are correct, Valeria! Do you know where I can get powdered kelp?”
“The Asian market on Third and Bakau. They sell it many ways. I knew it. Praise God! He created this thing for us.”
“Do they have the full leaves also?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“I will send for some immediately.”
He went out to the nurse’s station and instructed his head nurse to get over to the market immediately. He gave her some money and his keys and told her to hurry. It was critical.
His phone rang. It was Grav from the warehouse. “I am on my way to see you. I thought I should tell you first. The smaller truck was registered in Chechnya. Plate # H456BU.”
“Thank you. Please hurry to the clinic now. I believe I may have stumbled upon something to help us all.”
He looked in his phone for a doctor friend in Ukraine. He called him, but only got his voicemail. He left the message about the truck and to call him back. Then, he hung up.
17
Adam had to figure out a way to contact Ryan, the tech whiz that had done some work in his office. He didn't want to risk calling him from the office or from his cell. He waited until lunch and drove over to Grand Canyon University, hoping he could find him. He stopped at the main entrance and found the Engineering and Information Technology building.
As he got out of the car, he looked around to see if anyone had followed him, and saw he was clear. He walked into the building and went over to the counselor’s offices.
He didn't want to use his badge or ID to tip anyone off, so he stopped at the desk and made up a story. He was hoping he would catch the desk person at a weak moment.
There was a rather tight-faced woman manning the desk, so he sauntered up, playing confused and disoriented.
“Hi there. I hate to bother you, but I'm looking for my nephew. I'm in town for the day and wanted to take him out to lunch. His phone must not be working,” Brunell said, flashing his most ‘needy uncle’ smile.
She sniffed and stared daggers at him. She was a little heavy, but carried it well.
“That isn’t happening,” she shot back.
“His name is Ryan Roberts. I was wondering if I could trouble you to look up his schedule?”
The woman said stiffly, “This is highly unusual, sir. We keep our records protected for a reason. I am not allowed to give out any information about students.”
He shuffled his feet a little and said, “Yeah. I figured. I'm only in town for the day, but I thought maybe, someone might understand. Oh well, I guess I'll have to go another year without seeing him.”
Feeling a little guilty, and seeing that he didn't look like a serial killer and he certainly wasn't a miffed ex-girlfriend, she said, “Hold on a minute. Let me look. Yes, I have him in our system. But how do I know you are even a relative?” She stared at him and folded her hands on the desk.
“Well, I changed his stinky diapers when he was a baby. He had some ADD tendencies and was mostly an unfocused brat up to age sixteen, and last I saw him, he had a giant redheaded afro that he refuses to cut. And that drove my sister nuts.”
She laughed. “I have one like that too.”
She looked at his picture on his record. “You are right about that. He definitely has a big red 'fro. I just need to hang on to your ID while you are in the building. He's in a lecture right now. A-245. The lecture hall is down to the left.” She had suddenly warmed up.
“Thank you very much. By the way, did anyone tell you how great that color looks on you?” He was working it a little.
She rolled her eyes and pointed down the hall. “Don't push your luck, Jack, and don't do anything stupid. I could get in big trouble for what I just did.”
He thanked her again and walked down the hall.
He entered the theater and sat in the back row, spotting Ryan's red afro down in front.
He waited as the speaker droned on about terabytes and some other incomprehensible gobbledygook, before finally releasing the class with an assignment.
As Ryan came up the stairs, Brunell walked out into the aisle and stood in front of him. Ryan was loo
king down at his phone and ran right into him.
“Dude!” he said sharply, looking up, stunned.
“Hey, Ryan. Remember me? You did some work for me at the office a couple of weeks ago.”
“Uh… yeah… I think. The State Patrol? Yeah.”
“Listen, I hate to bother you, but something has come up, and if you have a minute, I would like to talk. “
“You couldn't call? Everything like that is supposed to go through the administration and the professors.”
“Right. See, that's the problem. I can't do that. I need to talk to you directly without going through all the red tape.”
“Really? What is this? Some kind of NSA, Edward Snowden deal?”
“Yeah, kind of like that. Can I buy you lunch?”
“Um, I suppose. I don't have any more classes today. I was going to go home and study.”
“Great! I'm parked out front. What do say to a some TexAZ Grill?” Brunell asked.
“I like that place. Best chicken fried steak ever. I could be convinced.” Nothing like a giant free meal to get a nineteen-year-old’s attention.
“Cool. It's on me.” Brunell waved him forward.
They walked up to the desk to pick up his ID from the desk, and as they turned to leave, Brunell winked and pointed to the 'fro behind Ryan's back. She smiled and shook her head.
They drove up Central Avenue to the famous eatery. It was only half full, which was good. It was usually packed this time of day.
Brunell requested a booth in the back, and they sat down underneath an autographed Willie Nelson poster. He was known to hang out there when he was in town. After ordering two chicken fried steaks and two sweet teas, Brunell cleared his throat and started in.
“Ryan, this may seem weird and everything, but I have to talk to you confidentially. Off the books for a few minutes. This cannot leave this table right now. Can I trust you?”
The kid put on a smug grin and said, “Interesting, considering I can hack into anything and find information about anyone, anytime. I have access to your entire system… I'd say you already can.”
Typical tech geek. King of The World, and all that.
“That's true. But in the case of the State Patrol, all tech procedures and any requests to enter the system would need to be approved through normal channels, and you would get busted if you ever tried something nefarious. Your family would be devastated, and you would never be able to work in the real world.”
The kid shifted nervously on the booth seat.
“Ryan, understand, I don't want to put you or your parents through anything like that. I'm sure they are going broke paying for your tuition at GCU.”
“Maybe,” the kid said.
“What I need is for you to get me some data under the radar. Through the dark web,” Brunell said.
Ryan looked bored. “Possible. Depends.” Typical one word answers from a kid who thought he was smarter than everyone.
“Depends on what?” Brunell asked.
“Whether or not I think it's a worthy cause.” A nineteen-year-old answer. Save the whales and all that happy shit.
“OK. That's fair. Anything else?” asked Brunell.
“Maybe. What's it worth to you?”
Now, the real motive was coming out. The kid wanted dough. How quickly they turned into little capitalists when the rubber met the road.
“That could be arranged. But this is more important than money, Ryan.”
“Everything is important to someone.”
This kid was starting to bug him. He was glad he’d never had any.
“This could be potentially important to everyone alive in this area. How's that sound?” Brunell was evasive.
“Right. I've heard all that noise before. The end of the world and everything. Blah, blah. I tend not to get involved in the day-to-day crap the government spreads. It's all bullshit anyway.”
“I appreciate your thoughts, Ryan. But right now, let's just say something is going on. It could be serious. Very serious. I can't say much more, but I can tell you that some very innocent people would owe you for any help you could offer. Big Time.”
The kid stopped and thought for a minute. He liked the idea of being owed something. And he liked helping the helpless. Plus, when it all came down to it, he could use the cash.
“Depending on what you need, it might be cool. My rate is $100 an hour. Cash, of course.”
Holy crap. These tech kids made bank for dicking around on the web.
“That can be arranged. So, when you can you start?”
“When do you want me to?”
“Last week.”
“Oh, I see… OK.”
And just like that, they had their golden ticket to the dark web.
They finished eating, Adam paid in cash, and they walked out in silence.
“What do you need done?” Ryan asked.
Brunell thought for a minute before responding. There was no turning back now.
He reached into his pocket and handed him a piece of paper.
“I need two things, Ryan. One, I need you to find out who this guy's wife is and where she and their two kids live.”
“Simple. What's the other thing?”
“Uh… this will be a little trickier.” Brunell paused for a moment.
“So?” the kid asked impatiently.
“I need to break him out of jail.”
The kid's jaw hit the floor.
18
Jackson had been pacing around the lot outside for the last hour. It was two o’clock, and he had put off getting back to Sam on the kids for too long. He knew this would not go over well. It seemed harder to call his ex than to deal with Jiahdi terrorists who wanted to blow up the world. He took a deep breath, pulled out his cell, and called.
She picked up immediately. “So, which one do you want to take?”
Right to the point. “Sam, something has come up. I'm sorry, but I can't talk about it. I won't be available tonight.”
“Of course it did. I expected that. That's why I already made other arrangements.” Sam snaped.
It felt like someone had punched him in the gut. “Listen Sam, it's not what you think. Really. Once things get cleared up, I should have a lot more availability.” Jackson tried reasoning with her.
“Right. I'm sure it has nothing to do with a bottle of tequila and a bimbo at that damned bar that seems to be your second home.” She was seething.
“Actually, it doesn't. And if I could tell you, I would. Please tell the kids I'm sorry and that I miss them.” Jackson was almost begging.
“Oh sure. I'll do that, Jackson. I'll let them know that you miss them so much that you'd rather be with a bottle and a babe. So busy that SOMEONE ELSE'S DAD has to take them to practice. I'll make sure and tell them that, Jackson.” Click.
She’d unleashed the full hay-maker. She had also called him Jackson. Twice. That was reserved for extra-pissed off status only.
He hung his head and felt his guts burning. Good God, how that woman could bring the wood in when she wanted to. He needed a drink. He hadn’t had a drink in more than twenty-four hours, and he was feeling it. The heemer homers, he called it. They weren't terrible this time, but he could definitely use a little numbing. No time for that any more. And no time for moping around like a scolded puppy either.
He paced around the lot and thought about telling Paul he had to go see the kids at school, he was feeling so guilty. But that would only tip off the Turds as to where they went to school, if they didn't already know. And Paul was feeling so lousy, he didn't want to put that on him.
As of right now, keeping things normal was the best plan for everyone.
Just then, the Chechen came flying up in his gleaming black Range Rover.
He looked pissed. “Jackson! How come no one answer phone? I been call. I look on video and not see Paul!”
Jackson looked at him and shrugged. “We've been here all day. I don't know.”
The Chech stomped int
o the office and called out for Paul. Paul coughed and stood up from the couch in the back office and shook his head.
“Why no one answer phone? We been call!” The owner shouted at him.
Shit, Paul had probably fallen asleep, and Jackson hadn't been inside.
“I'm… uh… sorry. I must have dozed off.” He frowned and looked over at Jackson.
“You damn fools! Can't no one do nutting 'round here?”
“Hey, he said he was sorry. The dude is really sick. Can you cut him a break?” Jackson defended him. “We'll pay better attention to the phones.”
“Paul! You stay here. Jackson, you fired! Get out!” the Chechen roared.
“Hey, dude! There have been some circumstances the last few days. Everything should be good now.” Jackson said.
“Get out!” He bellowed, pointing to the front door.
Jackson finally lost it. All the pressure of everything boiled up to one ballistic breaking point.
“Fine, you stupid Chechen! Don't think I don't know about you and your goon asses breaking into my place, you dumb son of a bitch! You have no idea who you are messing with. This will not end well for you! You think I could give one crap about this bullshit job and these junk heaps you’re peddling?”
He was hitting his stride now.
“And your mama's crappy baba ghanoush sucks! We threw it out. Eff you and your entire loser family!” Jackson shouted back at him.
He turned to leave, and the Chechen looked like he was going to kill him. He came roaring over, but Jackson saw him over his shoulder and put a stiff armed elbow up, smashing him straight in the throat. He went down like a giant folding accordian. Out cold.
Jackson smiled and rubbed his elbow.
“You still got it, Jackson,” he said to himself. It had been a while since he’d had to use those skills. He liked the feeling.
“Shit, Jackson. You really blew it now. I'll be lucky if I keep this job myself. And did you really need to add that baba ghanoush thing?” Paul croaked. “Thanks for the defense, but I think you better get out of here before he wakes up and calls the cops. But what was that about him breaking into your place?” Paul asked.
“There's a lot going on that I can't talk about. I think these bastards may be involved somehow. I'm not sure yet. I only wanted to work here and sell cars with you Paul, but that wasn't to be. I really appreciate everything you did for me. Things are out of my hands. Hopefully we can get together someday and I can tell you about it all. In the meantime, take care of yourself and tell your kids you love them. Things could get weird. Thanks again, Paul.”
Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller Page 9
