Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  The wounded man thrashed like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to force air past the knife in his windpipe.

  Jersey followed Ben into the room and as he held the man down, she went to the side of the bed and put her finger to her lips so the frightened woman wouldn’t scream.

  When the man was quiet, Jersey helped the woman arrange her torn clothing and stood her up next to the bed. “How many other guards are there?” Ben asked in a whisper.

  The girl thought for a moment. “Usually three downstairs and four up,” she said in a low voice, using the back of her hand to brush tears out of her eyes.

  Where are they stationed?” Jersey asked.

  “Two sit at a desk at the head of the stairs, and the other two stay in the guards’ bunkroom.”

  “Any way to get up the stairs without being seen?” Ben asked.

  She shook her head. “No, and they keep weapons ready at all times.”

  Ben pulled his 9mm Beretta automatic pistol from its holster on his belt. “You know how to use this?”

  The woman grinned and took the pistol from his hand, expertly jacking back the slide and cocking it. “Yes, sir, you bet I do. That’s why I’m here!”

  “Are you up to going up there and getting the drop on the two guards?” Jersey asked, concern in her eyes.

  “Just watch me,” she replied, slipping the gun in her waistband at the back of her pants.

  She walked slowly up the stairs, moving deliberately to give Ben and the others a chance to station themselves below her.

  As she topped the stairs, a harsh laugh could be heard. “Johnny through with you already, Susan?”

  Another voice added, “You must’ve been very good tonight, girl.”

  Susan could be heard to say, “OK, boys, keep your hands on the desk where I can see ’em.”

  “Why, you bitch!” growled one of the men as Ben and Jersey and Coop rushed up the stairs.

  Two quick shots rang out from the girl, blowing both men backward off their chairs.

  Ben and Coop didn’t slow as they passed, snapping the safeties off their assault rifles.

  Down the hall, a door burst open and two men ran through, pointing rifles ahead of them.

  Ben and Cooper opened up on full automatic, spinning the men and throwing them back through the door they’d come out of.

  Ben continued his advance, diving through the door and rolling on the floor, bullets flying over his head and stitching a pattern across the wall.

  He fired from a prone position and killed the last guard, just as he was lowering his aim.

  Ben lay there a moment, catching his breath, letting his adrenalin levels go back down to normal.

  Coop sauntered into the room and walked over to check and make sure all the guards were dead. They were.

  Seconds later, Chuck, Lara, Anna, and Nora bounded up the stairs, their rifles leveled.

  “Stay cool!” Jersey shouted before they could fire. “We’ve got it under control.”

  Coop looked at Ben lying on the floor. “You OK, chief?”

  Ben nodded and scrambled to his feet. “You and the others spread out and give the house a good going-over. I want to make sure all of the guards are accounted for,” he ordered.

  “Ten-four,” Coop said, and he and Jersey went out to get the others to make the search.

  “Lara, you might want to go with me to release the prisoners,” Ben offered, knowing she was anxious to see Carl and make sure he was all right.

  “OK, Ben. Thanks,” she replied, her eyes downcast as if she was ashamed to look him in the face.

  Starting at the end of the hall, they opened the first door using a key they’d found at the guards’ desk. Inside was what was at one time a bedroom, although now it had only a few old mattresses on the floor and two buckets in the corner. From the smell emanating from them, they were the only toilet facilities allowed the prisoners.

  There were six men in the room, all cowering back in a corner, and all showing obvious malnutrition and signs of torture.

  “They’d be less afraid if you went in first,” Ben said to Lara.

  She nodded and stepped into the room. “I’m Lara Walden, and we’re with the Freedom Fighters who’ve come to rescue you,” she said in a calm, low tone.

  At first, the men reacted with frowns of disbelief, as if this were some new torture device devised by their captors to give them false hope. After a few moments, they began to believe. Slowly, moving as if they hadn’t had any real exercise in months, they got to their feet and shuffled over to Ben and Lara. One of the prisoners, tears in his eyes, took Lara’s hand and gently kissed it.

  “Thank you . . . thank you so much. We were afraid we’d never . . .”

  He stopped and began to sob openly, unable to go on.

  Ben put his arm around the man’s shoulders and said, “Come on out, gentlemen. There’s plenty of food and drink in the kitchen. We’ll meet you there in a few minutes after we release the others.”

  The prisoners didn’t need to be asked twice. Moving quicker now, they filed out of the room and headed down the stairs.

  The next room was much the same, only it held three men and four women, all of whom showed signs they’d been badly mistreated. After sending them to the kitchen, too, Lara rushed to the last room on the floor, her face showing a mixture of hope and fear. She wasn’t sure Carl was really there.

  Ben opened the door and let her precede him into the room. As he followed her in, he heard her gasp and groan at the same time. The only occupant of the room was a gaunt man with dirty, bloodstained bandages on his left hand. He reminded Ben of pictures he’d seen of concentration camp survivors from World War II. Though from Lara’s description he knew Carl to be in his mid-twenties, the man Lara rushed to hug looked fifty at least.

  Ben slowly backed out of the room and went downstairs, where the other team members were busy fixing food and drink for the prisoners, who were devouring it as fast as it was served.

  “Chuck,” Ben said, “Lara’s friend Carl is upstairs, and he looks as if he may need immediate medical attention.”

  Chuck glanced at Nora. “Nora, would you mind fetching my medical bag from the Zodiac? I’ll be upstairs with Lara and Carl.”

  After they left, Jersey walked over to Ben, a speculative look in her eye. “Chuck told us they thought Carl had been killed when they were prisoners before.” She stared at him. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that mysterious call you got from Mike, would it?”

  He smiled, “Yeah, but the less you know about it, the less chance you have of being court-martialed.”

  He walked toward the front of the house. “Has anyone checked on the garage?” he asked.

  Coop looked up from making sandwiches at the counter. “Yeah, boss. There’re are two SUVs in there, a four man Jeep with a full tank, and a boat.”

  “OK,” Ben said and walked up the stairs.

  In the room, he found Lara watching anxiously as Nora and Chuck worked on Carl.

  “How is he?”

  “Chuck says a couple of shots of antibiotics and two weeks on some pills and he’ll be okay. He mainly needs food . . . protein and such, to heal his wounds.”

  “Come out here in the hall with me for a minute, Lara.”

  “OK, Ben.”

  When they were alone, Ben took her by the shoulders. “Lara, as I said before, SUSA can’t condone what you did, even though I know why, and sympathize with your motives.” He took a deep breath and pulled a map case from his back pocket. He handed her the map. “There’s a Jeep in the garage. As soon as Chuck is through with Carl and he’s had some food, I suggest you two take it and head north. Don’t stop until you are in Canada. This map will show you the latest intel we have on which roads are unguarded. OK?”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she took the map from his hand. “Are you sure you want to do that for us? Won’t it get you in some sort of trouble?”

  He shrugged. “
Lara, I wouldn’t know what it means not to be in trouble. It’s your only hope. There is a death sentence on your head, by both SUSA and the USA, but Canada should be safe enough.”

  She stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Ben. We’ll never forget you for this.”

  He forced himself to turn away. “Just see that you make it to Canada before you stop, or all this will have been for nothing.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Yiro found a pay telephone outside of Indianapolis and made a cautious entrance into the parking lot beside it.

  It was five minutes before ten in the morning. Traffic was slow, due to the bombings during the night. At one point he’d had to travel by back roads to get to the USA’s capital. Bridges were out all over the state of Indiana, too, and it was virtually impossible to find a fuel station with power for its pumps on the main thoroughfares running east and west. The many SUSA Scout teams had been markedly successful, along with the almost constant bombing in disrupting power stations all across the USA.

  Toward the end of his journey he was again almost out of gas, coasting down hills to make the most of the fuel he had left, wondering all the while if he would make it. He knew if he ran out of gas and was found by security forces of the USA he was as good as dead, for they would never again let him out of their sight until he’d given them what they wanted.

  He got out of his car, after careful scrutiny of the area to be sure no FPPS vehicles were nearby, with their distinctive license plates bearing the insignia of the USA painted on the plates in silver.

  Yiro dialed the number General Maxwell and Harlan Millard had given him and waited while the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  The voice was unfamiliar, as Yiro expected. There would be a number of security blockades placed between himself and General Maxwell.

  “I need to speak to General Maxwell, or to Harlan Millard. My name is Yiro Ishi.”

  “Who?”

  “Yiro Ishi. Either the general or Mr. Millard will know who I am.”

  “Will they know why you’re calling?” the unfriendly speaker asked.

  “Yes. Just give them my name.”

  “It will take a few minutes.”

  Yiro knew they were tracing the call. After he had gone this far, there was no turning back. The trunk of his Nissan was loaded with biological disaster. The box containing the formula for the vaccine was with Sun Li. He carried a slightly different formula for the bubonic plague vaccine in his briefcase, just in case he was questioned in detail. It was almost the same as the correct vaccine cultures, although different in one deadly respect that made it useless.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, he thought. He had to wait, even though the call was being traced, until he could talk to General Maxwell or Harlan Millard and make them his offer.

  “Please hurry,” he said, watching an Indianapolis police patrol car roll by slowly. The policeman seemed to be paying more than casual notice to him as he stood in the telephone booth.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” the voice snapped. “I have to check on a few things first.”

  Yiro could hear the click of telephone tap lines being put into place.

  “Tell General Maxwell, or Mr. Millard, that I will only wait two minutes,” Yiro added.

  “Just who the hell do you think you are, mister?” the voice wanted to know.

  “Maxwell, or Millard, will tell you who I am. Please hurry or I will be forced to hang up.”

  “You’re an insolent son of a bitch. Do you know what number you’ve reached?”

  “This is the main security number for headquarters of the USA at Indianapolis.”

  “Maybe you’re only guessing. Could be you just got lucky and the call came here.”

  “Where do you think I got the number?” Yiro replied. “It was given to me by General Maxwell himself. President Osterman is waiting for me to call with the information I have. It should be very easy to verify this. I will only wait one minute longer, and then I will call another number that was given to me by the general.”

  “Another number?”

  Yiro glanced down at a small piece of paper he had been given after the meeting with Osterman’s staff. “I have a number for Otis Warner.”

  A silence.

  “Are you still there?” Yiro asked.

  “What is this number for Mr. Warner? I’m making sure you’re legitimate. Hell, everyone in the USA knows these names. You could have gotten them anywhere.”

  Yiro took a deep breath. His patience, and his nerve, were running short. “If you believe I am an impostor, then explain how I got this number. I am quite sure it is classified as top secret.”

  Another silence, longer.

  “What is the number you have for Mr. Warner? If you have it, I’ll know you are telling the truth.”

  Yiro read the number to the security officer, being sure of each numeral.

  “I’ll put you right through, Mr. Ishi. Sorry, but we have to take precautions. The general should answer almost any moment now.”

  “Thank you,” Yiro said, without too much heavy sarcasm in his voice.

  A series of clicks, then a dial tone, followed by a ring on the other end of the line.

  “Yes? This is Maxwell.”

  “I am Yiro Ishi. Your security experts did not want to put me through.”

  “There are certain measures we must take—”

  “I understand. I have the . . . items we discussed. I am ready now to make a deal with you, if you have my price and are ready for the transfer.”

  A meaningful pause.

  “There is a slight problem raising the amount you asked for. Madam President wants to know if you will settle for a more reasonable price, Dr. Ishi.”

  “Reasonable?” Yiro asked. “What is reasonable for a weapon that will win the war for you?”

  “How much will you take? Give me your lowest amount. Let’s get to the bottom line instead of dealing in bullshit.”

  “I have already told you my price. Five million dollars in gold or precious stones. They must be delivered to me within two hours at your airport inside the compound, along with a jet to take me to Switzerland. Only after the money is deposited in an account there will I tell you where the information concerning the making of the bombs and the vaccine can be found. In addition, I want a plane to carry my wife and my children back to Japan. My father, who lives in Pittsburgh, will also be included as a passenger on this flight. My family must be safe before we strike a bargain.”

  “That’s too much. You gotta be crazy . . . to think President Osterman would pay that figure. I’m telling you, Ishi, the treasury just doesn’t have that amount in it.”

  “Very well,” Yiro said, his heart pounding. “I will sell my grandfather’s formula to General Ben Raines. He will pay what I am asking.”

  “Hold on a minute, you little . . . Dr. Ishi. I’ll have to get clearance from someone higher up in order to pay that much, and I can’t promise you that airplane.”

  “Then our business proposition is off,” Yiro said. As another police car drove by the phone booth where he was making the call.

  “Don’t hang up yet, Dr. Ishi,” Maxwell said, a change in his tone. “All I said was . . . I’d have to check with someone else before I agreed to your . . . offer.”

  “I cannot wait any longer. I will call back in one hour, if the arrangements haven’t been made, then sayonara, General.”

  General Leland Maxwell couldn’t believe it when he heard the dial tone in his ear. The little bastard was turning out to be a much more difficult negotiator than he’d thought he would be. Damn, he thought, if I blow this, Osterman is going to have my head on a platter.

  He sat at his desk a moment, drumming his fingers, trying to figure a way out of calling her, but knew he had no choice.

  Reluctantly, he dialed her number.

  “Claire Osterman here.”

  “Madam President, this is General Maxwell.”

>   “Ah, Max. Have you convinced that Jap to take less money?”

  “No, Madam President. He is standing firm. He says if arrangements aren’t made within the hour, he’ll sell his formula to Ben Raines.”

  Maxwell held the phone away from his ear as Claire began to scream into it. “What! That son of a bitch is threatening me?” After a few more curse words, she growled, “Bring him in and we’ll torture the secret out of him. Use his family if need be.”

  “Uh, there’s a slight problem there.”

  “What is it, Max?” she asked in a dangerously mild tone.

  “It seems some overzealous Black Shirts killed his father and his father’s housekeeper last night, and we don’t exactly know where Ishi is at the moment.”

  “Oh, that’s just great, Max. So you’re telling me we have to give in to the bastard’s demands?”

  “That decision is entirely up to you, Madam President. However, I’m afraid that without Ishi’s plague bombs and the formula for an effective vaccine against them, the citizens aren’t going to put up with the war much longer. Too many of them are having to do without the basic necessities of life. Even food and potable water is becoming scarce.”

  “Max, is this a defeatist attitude I’m hearing from you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m just trying to explain the situation to you so you can make an informed decision,” Max answered, sweat beading his brow. He knew he was treading on extremely dangerous ground. Sugar Babe never, but never, liked to be told they were losing the war, or that she’d ever made any decisions that could be construed as being wrong.

  “So,”—she paused, and he could almost hear her thinking of a way to make any decision she came to his fault if it proved to be a wrong one—“your recommendation is to give in to the little son of a bitch’s demands?”

  Max swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “OK then. Do it, Max. Make it happen. But be quick about it. I’d hate to lose this war because of your failure to act soon enough to get the formulas from Ishi.”