by E B Corbin
“It could have been a lucky guess on her part. If she somehow found out we weren’t at the hotel, she might have overheard our conversation last night. It’s a pain but we need to be more careful about what we say in our rooms.” Henry watched for the car in the side mirror but saw no other vehicles enter their street. The buzzing had ceased. “We lost her.”
“We need to disable that bug.”
“And we will. But right now we have to keep an eye out for her in case she shows up at the reservation.”
“Great,” Sam mumbled. “That’s all we need.”
When they arrived at the parking garage where Henry had left the truck, White Cloud pulled up behind the orange pickup. Henry climbed out and pushed the back of the seat down for Sam, but as she scrambled to negotiate the awkward exit, her foot caught on the lip by the door. She grabbed Henry’s shoulder, plowing into him, almost causing both of them to fall.
His arm went around her waist to keep her upright, and she found herself staring at his mouth only inches from hers. She felt an unexpected urge to feel his lips on hers, but she shifted her gaze to the dimple on his smiling face. When she changed her focus to Henry’s eyes, she thought she saw him glance at her lips.
She pulled back as far as the frame of the car allowed. What was she thinking? Henry was her assistant; she couldn’t become involved with him. But the urge to kiss him didn’t vanish as quickly as she’d like. She looked at her boots. “Be careful today.”
Henry squeezed her hand and stepped back so she could climb in the front seat. “Will do.”
He shut the door and she watched as he circled the car to get into the orange truck.
White Cloud sat in the driver’s seat, watching for any suspicious movement from other cars in the garage. “He will be fine.”
Sam cleared her throat. She needed to get her mind off jumping her employee’s bones and back to the business at hand. “Probably. It’s just that we don’t know what he’s getting into. That compound could be filled with nutjobs.”
“That is a given, but Henry can handle it.” White Cloud drove on as Henry backed the truck out of the parking space and flashed his headlights. “We will not be far if he needs assistance.”
“But we’re only two people. There are at least a thousand on the compound.”
“If need be we can get backup from the rez.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
In the truck, Henry followed the Firebird out of the city onto Route 26. His thoughts were on Sam and what had happened between them. He could have sworn she wanted to kiss him. Although he wouldn’t have minded one bit, he told himself to get over it. She was his boss—no way she wanted to change the dynamic and become involved with him. But he knew he hadn’t imagined her reaction when he grabbed her to keep her from falling. He shook his head and wished for a radio in the old truck. Something to take his mind off where his thoughts were leading.
Instead, he tried to come up with a plan on how to defuse the missiles. He knew cutting a wire would take care of the problem, but it would also be obvious. The Army used the Javelins more than the Navy, so he didn’t have a lot of experience with them, but he could bluff his way through it. He spent the rest of the two-hour drive racking his brain on how to inconspicuously disable the missiles.
White Cloud pulled over to the side of the road about a half mile before they reached the Totem Pole. The road curved just ahead and made it impossible to see Henry after the orange truck passed their location and continued on. Sam fidgeted with the receiver but heard nothing except a low hum from the truck’s motor. Then she heard tires crunch on gravel and the pickup pull to a stop.
“Are you waiting for me?” Though Henry’s voice came through loud and clear, she couldn’t make out the response. The only thing she heard was mumbling until Henry spoke again. “No offense, but I’d rather take my truck. I don’t like to be caught without transportation.”
“Suit yourself.” The words sounded more like a growl than an agreement. “Keep up.”
She heard Henry mutter, “Sure thing, asshole,” before she heard the tires crunch over the gravel again.
“They’re leaving,” Sam told White Cloud unnecessarily.
He nodded and almost smiled when he put the car in gear. “It will be hard to lose an orange truck.”
Sam’s hands tapped a nervous beat on her legs as they drove through the reservation. She caught glimpses of a rust-covered pickup in front of the immaculate orange truck. In a few minutes they left Warm Springs Reservation on the far side from where they entered, still traveling on 26.
About a mile after the reservation, White Cloud dropped back further as the lead vehicle slowed and put on its turn signal. They turned onto a little-used side road in need of some maintenance. The once-black asphalt had faded to gray with numerous potholes.
White Cloud waited until both Henry and the other car disappeared around a bend, then he turned. The Firebird crept along, but the bumps still jarred Sam’s teeth. She clutched the door handle. “Don’t lose them.”
“There is nowhere to hide on this road. We will see them if they turn off. The pavement dead-ends at a dam on the Deschutes River because the bridge has long since been closed.”
Sam peered through the windshield, afraid to blink lest she miss a turnoff.
White Cloud slowed and pointed to a ball of dust rising on the left. “They are up ahead.”
Sam wished she’d thought to bring binoculars. She could just make out Henry following through a double gate up ahead. A passenger from the truck in front got out and ran back to shut it. He wound thick chain around where the two gates met in the center and secured it with something she could not quite see but assumed it was a heavy-duty padlock.
When both vehicles were out of sight, White Cloud drove closer. Sam noted cameras mounted high up on the pair of thick tree stumps serving as a portal to the compound. Barbed-wire fencing stretched along the sides of the dirt road as far as the eye could see toward a hill in the distance.
Sam twisted in her seat as the Firebird continued past. “Well, that’s going to make it hard to get in.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have a need.” White Cloud pulled to the side of the road several yards away. “There is nothing here but stunted trees and bushes. We will be visible to anyone who comes down the road.”
Sam scanned the area. She saw nothing that would hide them from view. “Dammit!”
“We will just have to hope no one uses this road. It does not lead anywhere and the dam is not much of a tourist attraction.”
“At least we have that going for us.” Sam released her seat belt and relaxed into the seat. “If anyone comes along, I can pretend to be throwing up on the side of the road.”
“Or we can just say that we have broken down and have already called for roadside assistance.”
Sam shrugged. “I guess that’d work, too.”
They listened to the truck motor strain and cough as the orange pickup struggled to climb the steep grade.
Henry spoke loud enough so they could hear him. “This place is a barren wasteland. So far I haven’t seen another soul. No houses, no people, nothing. If we go much further, I’ll be out of range for your receiver. If we get disconnected, I’ll hook up with you back at the casino.”
“I hope Henry doesn’t break down for real,” Sam said as the truck coughed a few more times.
“He is going up a hill. The engine does that when it is trying for more torque.” White Cloud gazed at the surrounding acreage. “It looks like the road rises a good bit about five hundred yards into the compound. There are many trees in the distance, too. We will soon lose reception.”
As the words came out of his mouth, static began crackling on the receiver. They could still hear the motor, but it was overwhelmed by the squawking.
“Shit!” Sam picked up the receiver and shook it while holding it to her ear. “We’re going to lose it any minute.”
In the pickup, Hen
ry bounced along the rutted dirt road while the car in front kicked up enough dust and dirt to make it difficult to see. He nearly rear-ended the vehicle when it pulled to a stop at the top of a long grade. When the dust had settled enough for him to see, he noticed a large shed in the trees with a clearing behind it.
Another battered Ford pickup pulled in behind Henry, blocking his exit should he want a quick getaway. Two men jumped out of the cab and approached Henry’s truck from both sides. One stopped at the driver’s door and looked Henry over with disgust. His hands were in the pockets of his coveralls, bringing attention to his beer belly.
The second man wore jeans and a dirty wifebeater. From what Henry could see out the passenger window, the second man’s belly was not quite as big as the first man’s, but it was getting there.
“So you’re the hotshot who knows all about these missiles,” said the man in the coveralls.
“Well, I don’t know everything, but I am familiar with them.”
“More so than Doughboy, here”—he pointed to the man at the passenger window—“who worked as a supply officer at Fort Benning for ten years?”
Henry looked closely at the man called Doughboy. Despite the weird name, depending on how much he knew about the Javelins, he could be trouble. But if they had someone familiar with the missiles already on hand, why did they need him? He addressed the man in coveralls: “Are you telling me you don’t need me?”
“Didn’t say that. For whatever reason, the big boss says we need you to look at the missiles and make sure they’re operational.”
Doughboy harrumphed. “Told him they were good and ready to go. But does anyone listen to me? Hell, no. They want to check and double-check everything. It’s not what I signed on for, and I’m gettin’ a little sick of it.”
“Now, Doughboy, you know he’s just tryin’ to lead us until we’re self-sufficient. When the time comes, we’ll be our own sovereign citizens and have the whole state of Oregon as our homeland. No cops or government to tell us what to do.”
Henry wondered how many of them believed that. He wanted to tell them they were trading one kind of law enforcement for another. They didn’t want the government telling them what to do, but Buckley was all set to take over as supreme leader. He knew there was no use trying to explain it to these guys—they were too concerned about what they considered a lack of freedom to realize they were being used.
The man in coveralls spit on the ground by the orange truck’s tires and motioned for Henry to get out. “C’mon. We’ll show you what we got.”
In the Firebird, Sam could make out about every other word, if that. “I heard them mention something about Fort Benning. That’s where the Army trains to use the Javelins. I wonder if that’s where they got the missiles.” She fiddles with the radio trying for better reception then took in a breath and stopped.
“So why do they need Henry?” She fought back a touch of queasiness at the thought of Henry being sent into a trap.
“We do not know yet. Perhaps this man from Fort Benning was just a cook or janitor.” White Cloud tapped the steering wheel. “I believe I heard them call him Doughboy. What kind of a name is that?”
“Infantrymen in World War One were called Doughboys.”
“That is strange. Why?”
“I’m not sure. Never much thought about it. Right now, I’m worried about Henry. If this guy was in the Army, he should know about these missiles.”
“We must not jump to conclusions. Let us try to hear more.”
“They must be on the edge of our range,” Sam said. “Maybe if we pulled to the other side of the road we’d get better reception.”
“Very well, but I do not think it will make much of a difference. I hope Henry knows we are having trouble hearing him.”
“I hope they’re not jamming any electronics on the compound. We need a clear record of what was said. If this receiver isn’t getting the job done, we can only hope the pin on Henry’s shirt is recording the way it’s supposed to.”
“Right now, we need to be more concerned about the Hummer-like vehicle that is coming down the road.” White Cloud started the engine.
chapter Twenty-Five
The two men who led Henry to the compound stood outside their truck, facing him. Both had their arms folded in front with evil looks on their faces. One of them stood about six feet six inches and was skinny as a rail. He towered over the other, who seemed normal size, no special characteristics to distinguish him from anybody else Henry had connected with so far. He wore the same tattoo on his lower arm as the rest of them; the same familiar, angry stare.
Both men had scowls on their faces just like the man in the coveralls, who stood too close to the driver’s side for Henry to open the door comfortably. “Well? What’re you waitin’ for? We ain’t got all day.”
Henry stared at him and made no attempt to move. He wasn’t going to squeeze out of the truck. “Step back.”
The man in the coveralls initiated a staring contest with Henry, but he could not outlast the ex-SEAL. Henry had stared down the best of them. Finally, he spit a brown sputum on the ground again and took a step away.
Slowly, not taking his eyes off the man, Henry opened the truck door. He nodded in the direction of the two men standing against the pickup. “You want to call those two off?”
“Not ’til we see what you can do.”
Henry stepped out and slammed the door. “Show me the missiles.”
The Doughboy moved around from the passenger side of Henry’s truck and pulled up his jeans hanging below his belly. He checked Henry out from head to toe before he said, “Follow me.”
Henry threw a nasty look at the two men and brushed past the guy in coveralls. The Army guy walked over to the shed and pulled out a ring of keys. He tried several on the padlock before he found the one to open it. Then he jerked his head. “Inside.”
“After you.” Henry was not about to step into a shed by himself—if he was going in, one of them was going with him.
Doughboy glanced at the one in coveralls. “You want to join us?”
“I seen it before.”
Henry stepped back to allow the strangely nicknamed Doughboy to enter ahead of him. “You should have a better storage area for these things. Too much dust and dirt can throw off their ability to lock on target.”
“Yeah, well, this is what we got.”
“How long do you plan on keeping them in here?”
The man gave him a sidelong look. “Not long. Quit askin’ so many questions. Just do what you came for.”
“It’s too dark in here. I need you to help me move them outside.”
“God dammit! Petey and Biggie, get in here and help us move these things!”
The two men who’d been eyeing Henry shuffled in and grabbed a missile each. The tall, skinny one almost dropped his while attempting to lift it with one hand.
Henry moved like lightening and grabbed it before it hit the ground. “Careful with those! I don’t want to be accidentally blown up, do you?”
Even though Henry knew these missiles had safeguards built in, he figured these guys didn’t know that. If this Army guy knew it, he didn’t bother to correct Henry’s orders. He had to try to find out how much that guy knew. If it was too much, Henry would be in trouble. “Line them up outside in the clearing. I need light. But put a blanket or something down first. Don’t want them sitting on the dirt.”
“Where’re we supposed to find a blanket?” one man grumbled. “This ain’t no hotel.”
Using it as an excuse, Henry looked around the shed. “Where are the rounds, BCUs, and CLUs?”
“We only got two rounds,” the Army guy said. “And two command launch units.”
“What about the BCUs? The battery can be used only once and then there’s no more coolant.”
“We got enough of those. I know what I’m doin’.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his feet apart, his forehead furrowed in an angry line.
&
nbsp; Henry continued poking around inside the shed. He saw old boxes of dynamite tucked into the corner and wondered what they were going to do with that. Years ago dynamite was readily available in stores catering to farmers, miners, and such. Now it’s only sold by permit. Judging from the condition of the boxes, this stuff could be over fifty years old—probably not very stable or reliable. He sure as hell wouldn’t fool with it.
He noticed boxes of bullets, shotgun shells, and extra clips for both handguns and machine guns lined up neatly on shelves against one wall. They were ready for anything, and he wondered if this was the only storage shed on the compound. If it was, a few people would be well armed, but for a thousand men, it wasn’t nearly enough. If they had other sheds full of ammo then it was a different story—one he didn’t want to think about.
So far, he had seen only four men, but he’d been told there were more. Everything in the compound was well hidden. He saw no cabins or tents or anything to indicate where they ate and slept. If he was going to give the Feebies info, he would have to include something about how the place was set up. “Hey, this would be easier if I knew your names. Who’s Petey, and who’s Biggie?”
The tall guy studied Henry’s face. “Are you dimwitted or somethin’? I’m Petey. That there’s Biggie ’cause he’s got a big wonker.”
“Oo-kay.” He would have guessed that the taller man was Biggie, but then that made too much sense for the average IQ level he was dealing with. “Nice to meet you. I’m Henry.”
“We know who you are.” Biggie brushed his shoulder with the missile as he walked past.
Henry didn’t budge. He had to establish his authority and was not going to be pushed around. “I’d watch where you’re walking, if I were you. Bump into too many things, this whole shed could go up.”
Biggie glanced at Henry but didn’t respond. He marched toward the door with the missile resting on his shoulder, although he was careful to keep it away from the door frame.
With a quick shake of his head, Petey carefully adjusted the missile he had picked up and cradled it in his arms.