The Spy in a Box

by Ralph Dennis

  “In about twenty-four minutes, a satellite will adjust its course so that it will pass over that southwestern part of Utah and begin beaming photos back to NASA,” Brewster said. “We should have those photos by courier later this afternoon.”

  “A night or early morning pass might be valuable as well,” Hall said.

  “That can be arranged.” Brewster circled the ornate desk that was the center of the library. He took a large legal pad from the center desk drawer. “Let’s talk manpower,” he said. “Men who have debts and loyalty to the Company but are no longer with it.”

  In twenty minutes, the list stood at twenty-five names.

  “Start calling them,” Brewster said to Stiggers.

  Buck Winston arrived on time, wearing twill trousers, a British shooting sweater and cowboy boots. He had a hard-weathered face and a slim, springy body. After hellos, Brewster locked himself in the library with Winston. Stiggers and Hall were directed to the solarium where soup and sandwiches were being served.

  Fifteen minutes later, Winston joined them. “The old man had some calls to make.” The butler brought soup and a sandwich to Winston. Winston started his soup, waiting until the butler was gone, and then lowered his spoon. “You know, we need a month to do this properly.”

  “At least that,” Hall said.

  Stiggers said he figured on two weeks.

  “You know the way he is.” Winston tilted his head in the direction of the library. “He wants it in four days. He doesn’t want much time to pass between what happened at the safehouse and our reaction to it.” Winston spooned bean soup into his mouth. “I’ve been asked to honcho it. Hall, you’re my right arm. Stiggers, you’ll stay with us through planning so you’ll know what the operation is. Then you go back to the Farm. We want you there when the shit hits the fan so you can control it.”

  “I’d rather be with you,” Ray Stiggers said.

  “I can understand your feelings. From what Brewster told me, Rivers thought there might be a leak at the Company. Whatever else he was, Rivers wasn’t a fool. I want you there, on top of it. When word of this operation reaches Washington, somebody is going to wig out. The leak is going to feel the heat from Worldwide. I want your eyes there. I want you to pick him like a ripe cherry.”

  “Alright, Buck.”

  “A team player this time and a leader the next,” Winston said.

  Stanford Brewster stopped in the solarium doorway. “The photos have arrived as promised. In fact, even earlier than we’d expected.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The series of daytime, satellite photos were lined up across the top of Brewster’s desk. Brewster pushed three of the shots aside and drew one toward him. “Not much variation between them,” he said.

  Winston leaned over the photo. “What time were they taken?”

  “Eight a.m. their time,” Brewster said. “Give or take a minute or two.”

  The mining crater caught their attention first. Huge cranes and scoop caterpillars dotted the surface of the crater. Brewster placed a metal ruler over the crater and said, “To scale, I’d say the diameter is about two-point-three miles.”

  The crater was, according to the photo, to the west of the mining company compound. A road ran along the rim on the north side of the crater. Dump trucks lined this road, pointed toward the east where the railhead was.

  “Conveyer belt,” Winston said. “Lifts the ore from the mine level to the road. Trucked to the boxcars here.” Winston tapped the road and dragged a fingernail along it. “Boxcars and rolling stock here. Targets, I think.”

  To the east, almost bordering on the open mine, were two clusters of buildings. The road that continued to the railhead doglegged there and sliced between the two groups of buildings. On the south side of the road, they were low row buildings. “These two,” Brewster said, “are probably barracks for the workers. It’s going to be hard to estimate how large a work force there is.”

  “It might not matter,” Buck Winston said. “One hundred men or two hundred. I’d doubt any of the working stiffs have access to arms.”

  “True.” Brewster moved the metal ruler. He indicated an L-shaped building. “Probably the mess hall. Notice the wide loading ramps in the elbow of the L. Also, the row of containers, probably for garbage.” Brewster turned to Winston. “Your guess as well?”

  Winston nodded.

  Across the road from the row buildings and the mess hall was an orderly cluster of four buildings. “One of these or maybe two could house the administration and operation units of the mining company. One could be executive apartments or housing. That leaves the one we have to worry about, the WW Security firm. It’s going to be important to know which building is Security.”

  Hall moved forward and looked at the photo closely. “Too bad we can’t get an angle to see any communications gear that might be on one of the roofs. That might be the giveaway.”

  “I might arrange a helicopter pass,” Stiggers said.

  “Better not,” Winston said. “It might worry them.”

  Hall backed away. “What time is the night fly-by of the satellite?”

  “Around three a.m.,” Brewster said.

  “Midnight their time?” Hall nodded. “Lights ought to tell us what we need to know.”

  Buck Winston turned and looked at him.

  Hall placed a finger on the buildings to the south of the road, the barracks and the mess hall. “At that hour, any lights over here ought to be safety lights. Bathrooms and hallways.” His hand shifted to the cluster of four buildings on the other side of the road. “It ought to be about the same here. Minimal lighting for administrative offices and for executive housing. If there is such housing. The busy building, the one showing the most lights, ought to be WW Security.”

  “A guess,” Winston said.

  “Let’s hold off judgment on this until we see the result of the night fly-by.” Brewster dropped the metal ruler on the photo and took a long cigarette from a box on the side of the desk. His hand was pale and shaking. The strain of the day was getting to him. “Let’s pinpoint the targets.”

  “The siding and all the rolling stock,” Winston said.

  “Equipment,” Hall said. “Trucks, dozers, cranes, all heavy machines.”

  “The administrative building.” Brewster touched the cluster of buildings north of the road.

  “I want a search of the security files. We take what we want. Then we blow all computers, communications and any arms stores.” Hall lifted his eyes from the photo.

  Brewster nodded. “I think Mr. Hall should lead a group that deals with WW Security.”

  “He’s owed as much,” Buck Winston said.

  Hall smiled. “I’ll volunteer.”

  “We done here?” Brewster jammed his cigarette into an ashtray.

  “Not yet,” Buck Winston said. “There’s one question nobody’s asked or answered. How many do we kill?”

  Hall shook his head. “No blood at all would satisfy me.”

  “Three of ours are dead,” Stiggers said.

  Brewster turned the question toward Buck Winston. “You?”

  “We kill the ones we have to. An eye for an eye only works if we get the right three eyes. I’m with Hall on this. If we can strike and go and not burn a cap, I could live with that.”

  “Enough said.” Brewster closed the meeting.

  The safehouse was, for all intents and purposes, closed. Stiggers sent his man, Bob, on a run to the house to collect Hall’s clothing and belongings. Hall spent the night in a room in Brewster’s guest wing.

  Over breakfast, while Hall and Winston and Brewster ate, they studied the series of photographs from the night fly-by. One building, at the far eastern end of the four-building cluster, revealed a light intensity that exceeded any from the neighboring buildings or the barracks and mess hall across the road.

  “That’s it,” Hall said.

  “You willing to bet your ass on it?” Winston said.

  “If I
have to.”

  “You have to. You crash the wrong building and you’ll give security time to recover.”

  Hall lifted an eyebrow toward Brewster. “One more day fly-by?”

  “I might have used up all the credit I have over there.” Brewster studied Hall’s face for a long moment. “I can give it my best try.”

  “I want the best magnification we can get on this four-building cluster on the north side of the road.”

  Brewster carried his coffee into the library with him. Winston watched him go. “Daytime?”

  “I want a good look at the vehicles parked around these buildings.”

  “Ah.” Winston smiled.

  After breakfast, Hall rode with Buck Winston to his arms warehouse in Maryland. Huddled over Winston’s desk, they drew up a list of explosives and arms for twenty-five men. Ingram M-10 .45 caliber, SAW’s that fired the 5.56 mm ball, Browning 50 caliber machine guns, M-21’s with the 3-9 Redfield scopes, grenades, explosives in satchel charges and a command detonation system.

  “You’ve got your choice of handguns,” Winston said.

  On the way from the warehouse, Buck Winston left the list with his foreman. “I want these stacked by the loading door by this evening,” he said.

  The new day fly-by photos from the satellite might as well have been blow-ups from the photographs from the day before. The resolution was sharp. Hall had the first look at the four-building cluster and backed away from the desk to give the others a chance.

  Buck Winston stepped forward. A long stare at the photos and he said, “You’re right. Jeeps and Land Rovers. Only a couple of personal cars.” He edged his finger away from that building on the far east and touched the other three. “Mainly late model autos and station wagons. No jeeps or Land Rovers in the parking at these three.” He lifted the hand and touched the squarish building where the most light had shown during the night fly-by photos. “All that light and now the patrol-type vehicles … this is your security hut.”

  “It’s settled then?” Brewster walked across the library and stopped. His back was to a fireplace. A huge log burned in it. “The next question is when?”

  “Hall?” Winston passed the question.

  “Today’s Wednesday. When will we have the group together?”

  “Eighteen have already arrived. They’re being housed at a motel down the highway from the warehouse. Seven to go and I’ve got promises they’ll be in the fold by noon tomorrow.”

  “Do we have time for test-firing? Check-outs with the weapons?” Hall asked.

  “Half-a-day,” Winston said.

  “I say Sunday. I’d rather it was three weeks from this Sunday but …” Hall let it fade. “If we don’t have the time, we don’t have the time. Friday we coordinate the groups and set the plan in concrete.”

  Brewster nodded.

  “Saturday for travel. We need a C-130 H. A private strip where we can land and three UH-60 Blackhawks to meet us there.”

  Brewster nodded again.

  “We copter in as close to the Flat Canyon mine as we can get,” Hall said. “We hike in the rest of the way.”

  “Best time?” Winston was relaxed, approving.

  “We turn it loose just before first light.”

  It didn’t look like a gathering of thugs. It could have been a meeting of stockbrokers and lawyers and successful executives from the top forty companies. Except that the men seemed dressed for hunting and fishing. Jeans and tan cotton slacks, thick wool sweaters and leather jackets, split sheepskins, Korean War issue pea jackets and Vietnam foul weather coats.

  The full meeting was held after lunch on Thursday. Stanford Brewster presided. He might have looked out of place in his three-piece gray banker’s suit. Not to these men. It was the way all of them remembered him from the old days. Unruffled, cool in every kind of situation.

  Buck Winston’s warehouse was closed for the afternoon. It was crowded in the lunchroom, surrounded on all sides by drink dispensing boxes and sandwich machines. The tables had been taken by the early arrivals. The others stood against the walls or leaned against the machines.

  The preliminaries didn’t take long. The reason for the raid and the strike was given. Brewster outlined the basics of the plan. As far as Hall could see, there were no wet eyes for Rivers or Moss. Most of the men didn’t know Aaron. The feeling Hall had was that it wasn’t anger or revenge that motivated these ex-Company men. It was, instead, a fierce pride.

  Earlier, before the meeting, before Brewster arrived, Hall had been at the coffee machine using his last quarter to get himself a cup of the lukewarm liquid. He’d heard one man near him say, “Everybody thinks they can fuck with the Company and walk away from it.”

  “Laughing and smiling,” the other man said.

  “It’s time the rules got cut in stone,” the first man said.

  “Washed in the blood of the lambs.”

  “The sheep,” the first man said.

  “Three teams,” Brewster said now from his position near the doorway. “Ten men in each of two demolition teams. Five worker bees and five riding shotgun in each squad.” Brewster paused and looked around the crowded room. “How are you, Franco?”

  “Never better, sir.” A squat man with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow that looked like ground-in coal dust pushed away from the wall and stepped forward.

  “Franco, you and Buck will head these teams. Pick your men.”

  The selection didn’t take long. Franco and Winston could have been choosing men for a softball game. Near the end, there was a hassle over one man but Brewster mediated. “No, Ed Bantry’s being held out for Hall’s unit.”

  When the two demolition teams were set, Brewster told Buck and Franco to take them into the warehouse and brief them on the targets and the timing for the strike.

  Six men remained in the lunchroom with Hall and Brewster. Brewster introduced Hall to them. The final man to shake Hall’s hand was Ed Bantry. “I saved Ed for you. He’ll be your second. Anything happens to you, Ed’s got to know what you want done at WW Security.”

  Bantry was a runt of a man, hardly five-five. Wiry and so thin that Hall had the feeling that if Ed turned sideways, he’d disappear.

  “Lunchroom’s yours,” Brewster said. “See you back at the house later.” A wave and Brewster left.

  Hall said, “Push a couple of those tables together.” When they were seated Hall looked from face-to-face. He’d have to get their names straight, in short order. When the chips hit the table Sunday morning there wouldn’t be time to hesitate. “Anybody got quarters for the coffee machine?”

  Later that afternoon, after the teams were disbanded and the members returned to their rooms at the motel down the highway, Winston and Franco and Hall stood in a snow crusted field behind the arms warehouse. The field wasn’t large enough for a full-size mock-up of the Flat Canyon site. Winston argued for scaling it down and using it for a run-through.

  Franco, blowing on his hands to keep them warm, seemed withdrawn and disinterested.

  Winston paced a fifty-yard track in the snow. “This is the road along the rim of the mine crater. North. Dump trucks use this road to haul the ore to the railhead. We blow the trucks.” Winston stopped and waved an arm toward the imaginary crater. “Heavy equipment down there. Cats and cranes and a conveyer belt that brings the ore to the road level. Blow those.”

  “Right,” Franco said. “Anything of value.”

  “If you’ve got spare charges,” Hall said, “you could blow the road in two or three places as well.”

  Franco nodded. “We’ll arrange to have enough charges.”

  “After the charges are planted, you form a defensive line and wait. My team will need cover on the way back.” Winston paced beyond the fifty-yard track in the snow. “My team reaches the railhead. We set explosives on all the rolling stock and the siding.” He turned and paced the dog-leg of the road that curled around the east side of the mine crater. Then he stomped down the snow to form that roa
d that ran between the two groups of buildings. “To the south here, the barracks and the mess hall. I set up a Browning 50 here, to control the road and any entrances and exits from these buildings.” Winston stopped and pointed with his left hand to the north side of the road. “Four buildings here. I try to decide which is the admin building. I place charges. After that, I set up a line to cover Hall here.” He nodded at Hall.

  Hall paced through the road that ran between the buildings. “While two copters are flying you in from the west and placing you as close to the crater as possible, my chopper swings wide and drops my team on a landing site to the east. We hike in from the opposite direction. I set up a Browning 50 at the other end of the road. From there, we cover the mess hall and combine with Buck to neutralize the barracks. I post two men on the street and hit the security building. In there no longer than thirty minutes and out.”

  Winston moved forward and planted the toe of his cowboy boot in the dog-leg section of the mock road. “I cover until I see Hall leave the security building and heading east. If there’s no hitch, if we don’t draw fire, I send five of my men back to join you, Franco. I keep only the shotgun riders.”

  “My turn?” Franco stepped back and stood in the road beside the mining crater. “I cover you, Buck, until you’re past me. Then we fall back. You give the order and I blow the whole fucking zoo.”

  “That’s it,” Buck said.

  On the walk across the field that took them to the parking lot behind the warehouse, Hall noticed that Franco fell behind three or four paces. Hall turned toward him. “Something bothering you?”

  “I don’t think a run-throuqh on a to-scale mockup is worth snake piss.”

  “Buck?” Hall waited.

  “We scrub it then. Anything else?”

  “It sounds too easy. Nothing’s that easy. You got a good medic?”

  “We’ll fly in a Green Beret medic from Bragg. The best.”

  “That it?” Hall said.

  “Now I’m all smiles.”