The Armageddon Machine

by Mike Ramon

Chapter Two

  Clatsop County, Oregon, approx. 60 miles NW of Portland

  May 26 -- 14:25 UTC/7:25 am local time

  David Diehl sipped his coffee as he stood on the porch of his house--what he preferred to think of as a cottage, but which some would more simply call a shack. He was thirty-eight years old, stood six feet even, was powerfully built, and had dark hair and eyes. He looked out upon the clearing that surrounded his home, and the ring of spruce and Douglas-firs forty yards beyond. He inhaled the morning air, savoring the scent of the trees and earth; it was a good smell, reassuring.

  He took another sip from the ceramic mug that had the words “DR. K. ALL THE WAY” printed on it in blue lettering, stretching most of the way around the circumference of the mug. He had no idea who Dr. K. was, or if he/she had indeed gone all the way; he had bought the cup at a flea market for three bucks. He set the cup down on the small table sitting at the end of the porch and descended the porch steps, his heavy boots clopping against the wood. He walked around his home and walked to the river. The clearing in back only stretched for half the distance as on the other side of his home, and it ended at the Nehalem River. The river was about twelve feet wide here, and on the opposite side of the river there was just a small strip of bare ground before the woods took over again.

  David walked to the banks of the river and hunkered down, squatting on his hams and reaching down into the water, scooping up a double handful and splashing it on his face. It was pleasantly cool, and it sent a brief, pleasant shiver down his spine. He dipped one hand back into the water and felt the movement of the water, his hand creating little eddies on the surface, as he listened to the familiar sounds of the living woods. His body tensed, and he withdrew his hand from the water as he realized that there was another sound on top of the familiar sounds, a sound that was out of place. He turned to the right and scanned the tree line; something or someone was approaching. Then he heard something that chilled his blood--the unmistakable sound of a pistol slide being cocked back.

  He stood up straight and started back toward the house, keeping his eyes straight ahead but keeping his ears open. The sounds were closer now. He came to the stump he used for chopping wood. An axe stood up straight from it, its head buried in the stump. Around the stump lay a scattering of chopped wood pieces; David grabbed one of these pieces of wood, about two feet long and thick enough so that he didn’t have to worry about it breaking. He walked on and turned the corner around the far side of the house, out of sight of the tree line where the sounds had come from.

  As soon as he was around the corner he broke into a run, climbing the porch steps and rushing to the edge of the porch. He swung one leg over the railing, and then the other, and dropped down quietly. The porch didn’t quite stretch all the way across the front of the house, leaving about two and a half feet of space for David to stand hidden from view, his back against the house.

  The sounds drew closer. He chanced a quick peek around the corner and saw two men emerging from the woods, neither of whom looked like a hiker. One of them held a gun. David moved back as far as he could, and held the hunk of wood like a bat, ready to swing. The men moved closer, whispering between themselves, their voices too low for David to make out what they were saying. He could hear the crunch of their feet on pine needles, the scrape of their boots on the dirt.

  “Would you put that thing away?” one of the interlopers pleaded.

  “I don’t like this,” his partner said. “Why did we have to come out here alone?”

  Before the first man--the one without a weapon--could answer, he came into view; as he took a couple more steps, he turned and saw David standing there like a Major League batter getting ready to send the ball into the bleachers. The man’s eyes went wide, but before he could say or do anything the other man came into David’s view and David swung, the wood swinging around in a vicious arc and catching the armed man in the face.

  “Mmmf,” was the sound that escaped the man as he fell to the ground.

  David raised the hunk of wood, holding it up in both hands and using it as a ram to push the other man back; the man lost his balance and fell to the ground. David turned back to the greater danger, the man with the pistol. This man was still lying on the ground, holding his gushing nose; the pistol lay on the ground beside him, seemingly forgotten as he dealt with the pain of a busted proboscis. David kicked the gun away and held the hunk of wood up in the air, ready to bring it down on the man’s head. The injured man held up one hand in a pitiful gesture of surrender.

  “Stop! Please! We mean you no harm.”

  The words came out sounding funny, and as he spoke little jets of blood sprayed from his nose, staining his clean, white shirt.

  “We’re from the government,” the other man said, as if that was supposed to be comforting.

  David turned back around to face this man, who was getting back to his feet.

  “My name is Agent Phil Norwalk,” the man said, both hands held up to show that he was not a threat.

  “Why are you here?” David asked. “And why did this asshole have his gun out?”

  “That’s Agent Greeves. I guess you could say he can be a littler overly cautious, but he’s telling you the truth--we really mean you no harm.”

  “I’ll ask you one more time, and then I’ll bust your face open, too. Why are you here?”

  “We were sent to find you by someone who I believe is an old friend of yours-- General Hank Cromwell.”

  David lowered the makeshift bat a little at the mention of that name.

  “Hank sent you?” he asked. “I suppose you have proof of that, right?”

  “Uh, he said…he said to ask you how the boat was going. He said you would understand what it meant.”

  David thought about this for a second, and then broke into a broad smile and dropped the hunk of wood.

  “That bastard,” he said. “Come on, let’s take care of this man’s nose. Greeves, was it?”

  The man with the broken nose nodded as David took one of his hands and helped him to his feet. Agent Greeves walked to where David had kicked his gun and picked it up, thumbing the safety on and holstering it.

  Inside the house David found his first aid kit, and he did a fair job of bandaging Agent Greeves’s nose. He also gave Greeves something to take the edge off the pain. The man sat at the table with a wad of gauze wrapped around his nose, his eyes tearing up slightly, looking haggard and in pain.

  “I managed to stop the bleeding, but you may want to see a doctor when you get home to make sure it sets right,” David told him.

  Agent Greeves nodded his understanding.

  “So,” David said, turning his attention to Agent Norwalk, “which outfit do you belong to? CIA?”

  “NTRA,” Agent Norwalk corrected.

  “What the hell is the NTRA?”

  “The National Threat Reaction Agency.”

  David tuned it over in his head before shrugging his shoulders.

  “Never heard of it,” he said.

  “That’s not surprising. It’s a relatively new agency, and its existence hasn’t been made public yet.”

  “Why did Hank send you boys out here to find me?”

  “The General is now the Director of the NTRA.”

  “Hank a Director,” David said. “He always preferred to be out where the action was, not sitting in some cushy office. Things change, I guess.”

  “There’s only so much information that I can give you now,” Agent Norwalk went on. “Everything will be made clear when we get to Washington.”

  “Washington? I’m going to Washington?”

  “That’s what we’re hoping, but--”

  “Stop hoping. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Please, Mister Diehl, just listen to what I have to say. I think you’ll have a change of heart. This is a matter of national security.”

  David looked at Agent Greeves, who nodded in assent.

  “National security,” the injured man
mumbled, looking drowsy now as the painkillers David had given him started to take effect.

  David turned back to Agent Norwalk.

  “Okay; I’ll bite. What can you tell me?”

  “We have reason to believe that an enemy of the United States may be in possession of a weapon of mass destruction, and that they intend to use this weapon soon, possibley on American soil.”

  “How soon?”

  “We don’t know. Soon.”

  “Who is the enemy?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Agent Norwalk said.

  “What’s the nature of the weapon? Is it nuclear? Chemical?’

  “I can’t tell you that either, sir. When you get to Washington you will be fully briefed on the situation.”

  David noticed that the man had said when and not if. David thought it over.

  “Why does Hank need me? I’ve been retired for three years now. I’m sure he has plenty of good men and women who are younger, smarter, and--more importantly--not retired.”

  “Oh, there are plenty of others dealing with this situation, but the General seems to place great trust in you, sir. He told us to bring you in.”

  “Against my will, if necessary?” David asked.

  “No, sir. Not against your will.”

  “Tell me honestly. How big is this?”

  “Bigger than you could ever imagine,” Agent Norwalk said.

  It was the seriousness on Agent Norwalk’s face, and in his voice, when he said this that decided the matter for David.

  “All right. Let me just get a few things together and we can go.”

  “Sir, if it’s all right with you, we really should get going without delay. Anything you need will be provided for you once you’re in Washington.”

  “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  David locked up the house and the two agents led him back along the path they had taken through the woods. The agents seemed unsure of their direction at times, and at least once David was sure that they were completely lost, but after nearly an hour they finally found their vehicle, which was parked on a dirt road that cut through the woods. The three men piled into the plain, black car, the agents in front and David in back. Agent Norwalk sat behind the wheel.

  “I assume we’re headed to PDX?” David said.

  “No,” Agent Norwalk said. “There’s a Coast Guard station a bit north of here--Coast Guard Air Station Astoria. That’s where we’re going.”

  Agent Norwalk started the car, made a tight U-turn, and they started out of the woods. David Diehl stayed quiet, alone with his thoughts. Already he was filled with a sensation that he should have told these men that he didn’t want to go, that he didn’t want to get involved. Even as he had his thought he knew that it was already too late to turn back.