Текст книги "The Western Front"

Автор книги: Archer Garrett

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

***

Jake and Kate had already fueled up the Bronco from the town’s reserves and were enjoying the tiny café’s lavish, all-day breakfast menu.  Geram and the police chief were riding around town, discussing more appropriate defensive tactics.

“I think you’ve got to cut off some of these roads leading into town.  You can’t defend them all.  You’ve got how many, at least ten roads leading in?”

The man nodded.  “We’ve considered it, but a lot of folks have been reluctant to barricade ourselves in like that.”

“I think after today, they’ll have a change of heart.  If we hadn’t showed up when we-“

“You’re right son, don’t even say it.  I’d rather forget the whole experience.  So, let’s say we block some of these roads; what’s the best way to do it?”

“You want to go far enough out so that if someone abandons their vehicle and tries to hoof it in to town, they’ll be in no shape to fight by the time they reach you.  I’d say at least five miles, but ten is better.  Find a creek, a bridge, a bottom – a natural choke point.  Where we’re from, we cut trenches across the road at points like that. You could also build an abatis, which might be even better.”

The chief interrupted, “A what?”

“An abatis – take for instance a wicker chair, you know how the material is woven?”

The chief nodded.

“Imagine that with ten or twelve trees across a road; you cut them so that they fall over each other and interlock, making a huge mess.”  Geram entwined his hands as an example. “Nothing around here is going to drive over that, and it’d take some serious effort to clear it.”

“I like it.”

“Remember, anybody can get through anything, given enough time.  So don’t completely forget about these barricades, just focus your people elsewhere and check on them occasionally.”

“Makes perfect sense; thanks.”

As they pulled up to the café, the mayor approached.  The chief lowered the window and the mayor leaned, in smiling widely. “Is this one of the folks that saved my town?”

Geram smiled, “We helped, but your men did a lot to.”

“Don’t be modest, you saved us.  Come on in, I want to buy you lunch, ahh, breakfast.”

Ch apter 18

SPARC Team 2

San Francisco, California

The men approached the bridge wearing hiking boots and backpacks.  They split up and walked on opposite sides as they neared their destination.  They waited until there was no traffic, which didn’t take long at all.  They removed the ropes from their packs and fastened them to the side rails.

After several deep breaths, they hopped over the edge and rappelled down to the bridge’s pile caps.  The men realized just how dizzyingly high they were.  They placed the matching packages on their respective pile caps, right next to the bearings that the bridge deck rested on.

Once the packages were in place, they continued their rapid descent.  As they reached the water’s surface, a small skiff motored over and picked each man up in turn.  Once both men were in the boat, the operator throttled the motor and disappeared into the thick, foggy night.  The entire operation took less than an hour.

***

SPARC Team 5

Chicago, Illinois

The driver pulled the ball cap down tightly over her face.  She followed the pre-described route that offered the least chance of passing through a checkpoint.  Even if she was pulled over and searched, they would have to empty the entire contents of the fully-packed, box truck to find anything of suspicion.  She rounded the final turn and took several deep breaths as she approached the end of her journey.  She passed under the large sign that read:

Commercial Vehicles Only

 

She pouted her lips and gave the security guard the most innocent smile she could muster.  He blushed as he checked her credentials, before smiling and waving her through.  She winked at him as she drove through the gate and into the delivery bay of the Federal building.  She wasn’t the normal driver, the guard realized, but she was just so cute. A girl like that couldn’t possibly be dangerous.  Maybe he would stop her when she returned and ask for her number.

She hopped out of the truck and glanced around.  Not a soul in sight.  She locked the door and trotted away.  A forklift driver rounded the corner and shouted, “Ma’am, can I help you?”

“Oh!  I’m sorry; I just needed to use the restroom.  Is there one close by?”  She pouted her lips and flashed the same smile as before.

“Oh, well, just up the hall and take a right.  But hurry back; I’ll get in trouble if the super shows up and you’re missing.”

“Sure thing babe, see you in a flash.”

***

SPARC Team 12

Columbus, Ohio

The mechanics performed their final safety checks on the planes before clearing them for takeoff.  They sealed the mechanical compartments and packed up their tools before leaving for their union-mandated break.

The planes taxied across the airport to their terminals and prepared for boarding.  In a matter of hours they would be spread across the entire nation, flying towards numerous major, metropolitan areas.

In a dozen other cities, at a dozen other facilities, packages were hidden or simply left in plain view in an unassuming briefcase or toolbox.  One by one the reports came in that the drops had been successful.  One by one the malefactors executed their missions and disappeared back into the shadows.

***

William

Washington, D.C.

William flew down U.S. Route 1.  He frantically whipped around the roundabouts at Logan and Scott Circles and continued southwest.  He weaved in and out of the slower-moving traffic, down Connecticut Avenue and then onto K Street.  As he passed the statue of David Farragut in a blur of speed, he thought of the man’s famous quote and laughed.  “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” had taken on quite a different meaning, as far as he was concerned.

George Washington University soon came into view.  William looked down to check his watch – twenty minutes.  He had to hurry; he did not want to miss a moment of the action.  William wheeled the bike into the parking area behind Tonic and rushed up the sidewalk and into the bar.

As he opened the door and stepped into the establishment, he was greeted by an ambiance that was immediately relaxing.  The temperature was perfect, the lighting was immaculate.  The music was obscure, but tasteful.  He loved everything about the place.

William made his way to the restroom and turned on the faucet.  He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his black hair.  He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing as he tried to rein it in, but it was to no avail.  He strolled across the empty room and into one of the stalls.  He sat down on the closed toilet seat, reached into his pocket and retrieved a prescription bottle and a small flask.  He rattled out a cocktail of pills of varying shapes and sizes from the bottle. William chewed the pills up and washed the powder down his throat with the gin and tonic that was in the flask.  He checked his watch again – ten minutes.

He closed his eyes again and allowed the chemicals to work their calming magic on his body.  Within several minutes, he began to relax.  His pulse slowed and his breathing returned to a more normal pace.  He was usually very relaxed, but the night had brought with it an anxiety that he had never experienced before.  Everything hinged on the actions that would be set into motion in a matter of minutes.  Soon, the world would begin to radically evolve, more so than even in the last six months. Soon, he would hasten the transformation by tenfold.

He took one last look in the mirror.  He straightened his collar and tamed the messy helmet hair from the wild ride.  He exited the restroom with a newfound swagger.  His presence was more commanding as he strode to the bar.  People were beginning to filter in for a long night of drinking and reveling, or so they thought.

She had watched him rush into the bar and disappear into the restroom for several minutes before reappearing as a completely different William, the William that she knew so well.  She aimed for him, her heels echoing on the hardwood floor with each purposeful stride.  As she reached him, he turned around with his usual Guinness in one hand and a cabernet sauvignon in his other.

She smiled.  “Were you expecting me?”

He simply handed her the glass and returned the smile.  “Let’s have a seat in the corner tonight.”

They walked over to the secluded nook and sat on the leather sofa.  A flat-screen television was hung above the couch opposite of him.  The television was a stark contrast to the elegantly rustic surroundings.  Normally the contradiction would have annoyed him, but, for the moment, he appreciated its strategic placement.  He sunk deep into the couch cushions and propped his feet on the antique coffee table in front of him.

He brought the tall glass of the rich beer to his lips and savored the first mouthful.  He rolled it in his mouth like a fine wine before swallowing the liquid.  The pills’ effects were in full force now.  He smiled and placed his arm around her.

“William,” she smiled playfully and said, “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Shhh.” he replied, “Tonight’s not about you, babe; it’s all about me.”

Breaking News flashed across the screen as the regularly scheduled propaganda from the marionettes was interrupted.  The feed was replaced with a new, solemn-faced puppet.  William grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as high as it would go.  Groups were beginning to converge around other televisions within the bar.

“Greetings America,” the teary eyed broadcaster announced, “we have breaking developments from across the country.  Reports are still coming in as we speak, but it appears that a coordinated, terrorist attack has struck numerous targets from coast to coast.  Bridges have been attacked in New York and San Francisco – wait, this just coming in,” she cupped her ear for a moment before continuing, “-a third bridge has just collapsed in Chicago.

The targets vary widely in nature, but appear to all be connected to a single party.  Federal buildings, water treatment facilities, passenger planes – there have been at least a dozen attacks, and more are being reported by the minute.”

She cupped her ear again, straining to hear the speaker, “Oh, we’re cutting to live footage now.”

A camera with a bird’s-eye view circled the collapsed section of the San Mateo Bridge in San Francisco.  The sounds of the helicopter’s blades could faintly be heard behind the broadcaster’s narration of the destruction.  Cars were beginning to pile up on the bridge with nowhere to go.  Suddenly, a second section of the bridge collapsed into the bay.  The crowd in the bar gasped collectively at the horror as cars tumbled into the water.

The footage changed to a scene of scattered wreckage and debris in downtown Boston.  Multiple buildings appeared to have been damaged by the sabotaged Boeing 747.  Hundreds were confirmed dead, but the reporter warned that casualties could reach a thousand before it was over, and there were other plane crashes as well.

The screen returned to the reporter in the newsroom, now sitting behind a desk as other journalists and assistants ran frantically to and fro.  William reasoned it was a ploy to add a sense of drama and urgency to the newsroom, as if such was needed.

“This just in,” the broadcaster announced, “an anonymous source from the Pentagon has reported that they believe the terror attacks have been committed by a right-wing extremist organization.  They further believe that the terror organization may even have ties with foreign governments, due to the complexity and the coordination required for the attacks,” She paused and exchanged a sidebar whisper with a man just off screen, before continuing, “The president has declared a state of emergency for all fifty states and will be mobilizing additional troops throughout the nation, especially in areas sensitive to further terror attacks.”

Silence had fallen across the establishment as the young staffers and lobbyists were breathlessly glued to the reports.  The bartender did not even notice William walk behind the bar and refill the drinks.  He strolled back to the corner and eased back onto the couch.  He was smiling contently as he handed her the glass.

“William,” she said, “I have to say, I’m impressed.  All of this – yours?”

  He propped his feet up and leaned back into the plush cushions of the couch before replying, “This is the opening act; I’m just getting started.”

Chapt er 19

Reese

Washington, D.C.

The man with the blue eyes topped off his coffee and started brewing another pot.  It would surely be a very long night.  He had muted the television long ago.  He couldn’t listen to the ridiculous speculation and commentary from the marionettes anymore.  He didn’t need their opinions on who was behind the terror attacks; he knew exactly who had done this.

He had.

He had acted as an intermediary for William and the counterparty.  He had carefully chosen each target:  the planes, Federal buildings, bridges and banks.  He had coordinated the strike teams and even given the order to proceed.  Then he had contacted his handler, and the agency had done nothing.

The agency had done nothing.

The devices were not even supposed to have been real.  They were supposed to be inert, inactive, neutralized.

T his was not supposed to happen.

His mind was racing.  His thoughts were confused and half developed.  It was as if his mind had just burst forth from the dam that had restrained it his entire life.  He wanted to rage around the room, but he was afraid to utter even a sound.  He wanted to go to Tonic and beat William with his bare hands, but he knew it was not all William’s fault.

William was vile; everything he touched was poisoned by his warped ideologies, but he knew that if one was stung by a scorpion, one did not blame it.  William was doing exactly what was to be expected. This was someone else’s fault; someone that was just as, or maybe more, nefarious than even Galleani.

This was the fault of someone he had trusted.

He set his cup of coffee on the floor by the bed and closed his eyes.  He ran his clammy hands through his hair.  He tried to clear his mind so that he could focus on what he should do.  Even with his eyes closed, the images from the television still tortured him.  He saw them all:  the cars that had plummeted from the bridges into the waters below, the wreckages of the planes that had been detonated, and the ashen-faced men and women who searched for their loved ones in the rubble of the buildings.  Every image haunted him.

He stood up and looked around the room.   Clothing was strewn about, and every piece of furniture in the room was stacked against the door.  When he had checked in, he had argued to no avail for a room with a balcony. At the moment, he was thankful to only have one point of entry.  His MP5 and Glock pistol were within arm’s reach on the bed beside him.  He paced in circles, recollecting the events once again.

There were undoubtedly numerous teams from his agency involved in Operation Fireproof, he reasoned.  He was the face of the operation, negotiating with William and the counterparty.  There should have been a second team that acted as a foreign group and supplied the supposedly inert explosives to the counterparty.  There were numerous teams that should have acted simultaneously across the country to apprehend the terrorists during the placing of the devices.

A strike against the counterparty should have occurred in at the same time as the other counterstrikes.  The group did not act as overtly as William, but their capture was just as important.   This was supposed to be a celebration, but instead it was wrought with uncertainty and paranoia.

As far as he knew, none of the other teams had even mobilized against the threats.  The answer had to be one of three possibilities:  his handler had not transmitted his intel to the agency, someone within the agency had received the transmission from his handler and had failed to contact the other teams, or all of the other field teams had refused to act.

He knew the field agents and his handler better than he knew anyone else.  By the nature of his profession, he trusted them with his life.  Since William had managed to obtain live explosives, he reasoned that the second possibility was most likely.  Somewhere in the Special Activities Division of the CIA, or SAD as it was referred to, there was a traitor, or perhaps traitors, of the highest order.

He sat on the bed and dialed his handler.  The phone rang four or five times with no answer.  As he was about to hang up, he heard a man’s voice on the line.

“Yes?”

His heart sank and his stomach turned.  There was no doubt in his mind that Sofia was dead.  He searched for words, but found none. He sat in silence.

“Reese, is that you?  Speak up, old boy.”

“I don’t know who you are, but I promise you I’ll find you; and when I do-“

The man laughed with derision and interjected, “You’ll do what?  How do you find a ghost, Reese?  How do you kill a specter?  I’ve lain down before you in the mud and watched you with labored breaths. I’ve whispered to your soul and dreamt of squeezing my trigger from a thousand yards away.  How do you win when you don’t know the players, or even the very game that’s being played?”

“I’ll find you.”

“You’ve no one left you can trust, and nowhere left to go, and I’m coming for you.”

Click.

Reese found himself staring once again at the television as the call abruptly ended.  The man was right; he had nowhere to go and no one to trust.  He was alone in a city full of liars and thieves.  He had to assume that every one of his contracts was either a traitor or dead.

Or, maybe he did have someone left.  He grabbed a separate, pre-paid phone that was lying on the floor in the far corner of the room.  He rubbed his thumb across the keypad and closed his eyes as carefully considered the action. Finally, he dialed the number.  Reese gathered his sparse belongings while the phone rang.

“Who is it?” the voice demanded.

Reese could hear the sense of victory in William’s voice, and it disgusted him.  “It’s me.  Can we talk?”

“You know, I’m kind of busy at the moment.  You should come over here if you’re still in town.”

“I don’t have time for that, Will.  I need to talk to you, in private, now.  Can we meet at Johnny’s spot?”

“Johnny’s spot?”

“I’m leaving now; I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright,” William groaned, “give me thirty minutes.”

Reese hung up the phone and walked to the bathroom.  He washed his hands and face, and then stared blankly at the mirror.  His blue eyes blazed back at him from the other side.  Finally, he whispered, “He’s your only hope.  You can kill William Galleani later, but tonight, he’s all you’ve got.”

***

Reese nervously scanned the shadows from the highest point he could find, Lee’s mansion.  It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to travel the five short miles to Arlington cemetery.  He had doubled back a dozen times to ensure no one was following him.  Surely they would have considered that in his desperation he might contact William.  He had told no one of the locations where their meetings occurred, not even his handler, but that brought him little comfort.

The cemetery was once again free of any interlopers.  Countless crypts and monuments dotted the landscape.  It had seemed so safe when he thought he was in control of the situation.  Now, all he could see were the innumerable vantage points where someone could be waiting for him to step out of the shadows and into their crosshairs.

He continued to search the darkness for any adversaries until, finally, he saw William’s bike.  He first spotted solitary headlight on the front of the Ducati Monster as it was crossing the Potomac.  He hoped William would dim the light, or turn it off completely, but he never did.  Reese reasoned that, between the successful attacks and a night of celebratory drinking, William was likely feeling unstoppable.

William guided the bike to the center of the plaza, just below Kennedy’s grave.  He shut it off and casually strolled up the steps to the eternal flame.  Reese watched as William reached into his jacket and retrieved something.  He fumbled with the item for a moment before bringing it up to his mouth – his flask, of course; William was still celebrating.

William crouched down low and warmed his hands over the small fire, waiting for Reese to appear.  Reese alternated between watching William, the cemetery and the bridge for several more minutes before finally crawling out from under the bushes and carefully making his way down the hill to the flame.

When William saw him, he raised both arms in victory. Reese was too far away yet to see, but he could imagine the sickening smile that William had on his face.  As Reese reached the foot of the hill, William enthusiastically stepped forward to greet him.

“Excellent work, excellent work.   You exceeded all expectations.  I thought at least two or three of our devices would be discovered, but I was wrong.  Your planning was flawless!”

Reese’s breathing and pulse quickened at the sound of William’s voice.  He struggled to contain his rage.  He exhaled long and slow, and then replied with a smile, “They never saw us coming, eh comrade?”

“Never indeed!  Here have a drink.”  William extended his flask to Reese; he accepted the gesture and took a deep gulp of the vodka.  The strong libation helped to calm his nerves. Reese took a second gulp before handing it back.

“Now, comrade,” William continued, “what brings us here tonight?”

“I’ve decided I want to go to Texas, to help.”

“Relax, your job’s finished; you did well.  I have capable people on the ground.  They’re already helping our new friend’s team get everything into position.  Why would you want to fly across the country now, after just the other day you were up in arms over a phone call?”

“Well,” Reese replied, “tonight was so – perfect.  I believe it could be the tipping point.  We’re on the cusp of something amazing William, can’t you feel it?  You need someone in Houston that you know can deliver. I’ve thought about it and I want all in.  Besides, do we really need a couple of your underlings from Texas handling such a sensitive operation?”

“I appreciate that, but things are moving so fast, I don’t know if you can even get there in time.  We’re talking a matter of days.”

“How soon can I be on a plane?  I want this, Will.”

“Alright, I can make some calls tomorrow morning.  I can probably have you on a private plane by tomorrow night.  I’ll let everyone know you‘re coming, but if something happens – we move without you. I can’t let anything screw this up.  Is that fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

“Good.”  William smiled, “Now go get some rest, you’ll need it; the next few days’ll be a wild ride.”

“I’m sure they will.  Thank you.”

William placed his hand on Reese’s shoulder for a moment as he smiled.  Reese could feel his stomach turning in revulsion at the gesture.  William turned and walked back down to his bike in the plaza.  Reese watched as he rode away and slowly disappeared over the Potomac.

He turned in a slow circle and stared at the loneliness that surrounded him.  He felt a strong sense of foreboding, as if a thick cloud of evil had enveloped him.  He knew he could not return to his room for the night.  He had no choice but to stay here.  At least here, he would be surrounded by men whose loyalty was without question.  He set off to the west, to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.