by TW Powell
“This crisis cuts both ways. The sale of Chinese rare earths to Japan has been prohibited for many years. Our Japanese friends have been forced to purchase rare earths on the spot market, mostly from Australia, at exorbitant prices. Now, that the world-wide supply has crashed, the prices are no longer just exorbitant. The prices are now prohibitive, and the supply is practically nil.”
Admiral Stone then got down to business, “Captain Smith, you will be in overall command of our Mountain Pass operation. Your primary objective is the total disruption of rare earth shipments from the Mountain Pass facility to the PRC. Destroy the facility if necessary, but your secondary objective is the capture of the Mountain Pass facility and the redirection of that facility’s rare earth production to Japan and its allies. We would consider it a trifecta if you could capture the facility and bring the separation and refinement processes online. You are to consider yourself and your team expendable.”
Delvin was speechless. He was in way over his head.
“Admiral, may I speak freely?”
“Of course. Let’s be frank.”
“I am no grand strategist. Sure, I can run a good con and bribe the corruptible, but I’m not the man you need for this job.”
The Admiral broke up laughing, “We think you’re just the man we need for this job. You and your entire Cast of Characters. By God, Delvin, if we had another hundred like you, we’d be back in DC by now.”
Delvin continued to hesitate, “Sir, with all due respect, my ‘Cast of Characters’ can’t capture and hold a large mining operation. We would be hard pressed to just disrupt operations for any meaningful length of time.”
“I have to agree with you on that. You will need more resources. The good news is that we have identified some of those resources.”
Mr. Jones re-entered the conversation, “Captain Smith, day after tomorrow, you will make an emergency hot shot delivery to Ely, Nevada.”
“Ely! That’s almost all the way over to Utah. Ely is clear across Nevada.”
“Yes, it is almost over to Utah. As you come into Ely on US 50 from the west, the City Park sits a block off the road and to the right. The Park is not much more than a Little League baseball field. At noon, day-after-tomorrow, your contact will be standing on the pitcher’s mound wearing a ball cap. Ask him, ‘Do your boys ever play here?’. He should answer, ‘Yes, all 2,000.’ If he doesn’t answer correctly, shoot him.”
As Admiral Stone was leaving the wardroom, he turned back to Delvin, “This is your operation now. What should we call it?”
Delvin stood on wobbly legs, smiled and answered, “Operation Daisy, Sir.”
After Admiral Stone and Mr. Jones left the wardroom, the Japanese doctor returned to re-examine Delvin before he disembarked. The doctor spoke very little English, so this time he brought along a translator.
Delvin was still quite nauseous, “Ask the doctor if he can give me something for the return trip.”
The doctor replied through the Translator, “I can give you more medication, but it will make you very sleepy.”
“I’d rather sleep for a week than go through all this again.”
By the time Delvin was back onshore on his bicycle, he felt like he had by hit by that proverbial freight train. It was getting first light when Delvin made it back to his truck parked in the pizzeria parking lot. He stowed the bicycle in the truck’s box, then flopped down across his truck’s bench seat and went nighty-night.
CSS
Mid-morning, Delvin was still sound asleep in the cab of his truck. He was awakened by rapping on the driver’s side window.
“Mr. Smith, are you inside?”
Delvin recognized the voice but couldn’t quite place it. He sat up and rolled down the window.
“Mr. Smith, are you OK?”
Delvin was still groggy from the medication, but then he saw the black leather coat and fedora.
He quickly snapped to sobriety and commenced the con, “I probably look like shit.”
“Truthfully, Mr. Smith, you do look like hell.”
“I feel like it too. This is my favorite pizza joint. Last night, I stopped in here for some pizza and a few beers. I’m afraid I had too many beers. About 2 a.m., I started puking my guts out. Then I passed out here in the truck.”
“Do you need medical attention?”
“No, I’m OK now. Guess I should learn to hold my liquor. Didn’t we meet a few weeks ago down at Peoples’ International?”
“Yes, I’m surprised you remember me.”
“Yeah, the last few weeks have been just a blur considering the crazy turn of events.”
“Now you are Member Smith, ‘Hero of The Collective’. Is that the correct phrase?”
Delvin began laughing, “Yes, that’s what they called me during my 15 minutes, but The Collective abhors glorifying the individual. Now, I’m back to being simply Delvin Smith the delivery man.”
“You are too modest, Mr. Smith.”
“One thing I am good at is remembering names. Please forgive me, I recall giving you my card when we met at the airport, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”
“That’s because I did not introduce myself. You are aware that I am Chinese State Security?”
“I gathered that when you scanned my RFID at the airport.”
“I am Inspector James Wu.”
Delvin nodded his head, “It is a pleasure seeing you again, Inspector Wu. Did your daughters enjoy the chocolate?”
“Mr. Smith, that was real Swiss chocolate. My daughters thank you. But there is another more pressing matter that we need to discuss.”
“Oh, is something out of order?”
“No, this is a personal matter.”
“Comrade James, I am always happy to help a new friend. Climb in and we’ll just drive a couple of miles over into the Golden Gate Recreation Area. I know a secluded place.”
Delvin knew many secluded spots, but this time he chose one of the most secluded.
As soon as Delvin parked the truck, he took his Peoples’ Phone from his pocket, opened the driver’s door, and placed the phone on a nearby picnic table.
“Mr. Smith,”
Delvin interrupted, “Excuse me Inspector, my friends call me Delvin.”
“OK, Delvin. Are you aware of the great plague now sweeping China?”
“I try to steer clear of politics and intrigue, my friend.”
“This is more than politics. This is life and death.”
“How does this affect us, Inspector?”
Inspector Wu whispered, “Are you certain this truck is secure?”
Delvin smiled, turned on the radio, then motioned for James to get out of the truck.
“Let’s walk over to the lookout. We can speak together as men as we walk.”
“Delvin, I have been ordered to relocate to Beijing along with my family.”
“Things are that bad?”
“Very bad.”
“Don’t they have a vaccine, or something?”
“They thought they had a vaccine, but it is not totally effective and may actually spread the virus in some cases. I have some technical expertise, but I am not a bioweapons specialist. On the other hand, you worked with the Vietnamese doctors on the vaccination program. You have many contacts. I know you do. You have even more contacts now that you are a Hero of The Collective.”
“Inspector, how can I be of service?”
“I don’t know. I need your help. My wife is an American. She was born in Anaheim, not far from Disneyland. I was born in San Jose. I am Chinese by heredity, but I have spent very little time in China. My father worked in the California aerospace industry before the Revolution and I was recruited while I was at Stanford. California is my home. California is home to my family. China is a far away, pestilence ridden country.”
“James, you’re talking treason. Treason against the People’s Republic.”
“No Mr. Smith, I’m talking life vs. death and happiness vs. misery.”
>
“Let’s dispassionately analyze this situation. If you and your family were to somehow be miraculously immunized against this killer virus, you would still have to go to China. Agreed?”
“Yes. We would have to go. We would have to successfully run the blockade now imposed by the great powers upon the West Coast. That blockade is being enforced with deadly force.”
“Then, your only way out is to run. If you stay in the Peoples’ United States, you and your entire family would be hunted down, denounced and die horrible deaths.”
“Delvin, you have summed up my situation, but it gets even worse. The Collective has started a new program that involves my younger three daughters. I can’t even begin to describe it.” The Inspector was now sobbing.
Delvin was shocked. A CSS Inspector was openly pleading and crying for his help.
“Since you are CSS, can’t you just opt your daughters out of public education?”
“No. My government requires that we follow all the laws and customs of the PUS in order to blend into society and not offend The Collective.”
“I am honored, James, that you have enough faith in our friendship to discuss these matters. I don’t know what I can do. If you needed some wine, or steaks, or chocolate bars, perhaps I could help, but this is a counter-revolutionary and treasonous discussion.”
Delvin continued, “Please, do not take offense. May I ask you a very personal question? This is not a trick question.”
Inspector Wu solemnly replied, “Ask me anything.”
“Are you Chinese State Security, a Member of The Collective, or an American?”
James paused and thought for what seemed like an eternity, “I want my daughters to enjoy the
life that I led before the Revolution. So, I guess I am an American.”
“OK. I don’t know what I can do. You know the CSS. Keep up appearances. Whatever you do, keep all this to yourself. No one else can know, not even your family. Appear eager to do your duty while we work to delay your relocation. If you were to be working on a big case, it might just buy you some time.”
“Yes, that could buy some time regarding the relocation, but in a couple of months my daughters must return to school.”
Delvin had a big fish on the hook. He now missed having someone like Jo around to check things out. James was CSS. This could all be a CSS counter-intelligence sting operation. Delvin had to proceed with caution.
“James, you are CSS. We must learn to trust and help one another. Tell me, what do you know about an incident that occurred over in Reno just a few nights ago?”
The Fugitive
When Admiral Stone mentioned the assault on Top Gun, he was referring to an action that occurred just a few weeks earlier when three members of Delvin’s “Cast of Characters” launched a night assault upon ground attack aircraft based at the old Naval Air Station in Fallon, Nevada. Pre-Revolution, this base was the home of the US Navy’s Top Gun Naval Fighters Weapons School and was immortalized in a Tom Cruise movie of the same name.
Bobby Ray Skipper, Lance Corporal Darius Johnson (aka: Rambro), and John Nicolescu (aka: Vet) destroyed four vintage A-10 Warthogs and two Apache helicopter gunships using IEDs. But they paid a price for their success. During the raid, The Skipper was seriously wounded by shrapnel from a secondary explosion.
Initially, one IED failed to explode leaving the second Apache sitting on the tarmac undamaged. Former US Army Ranger, John Nicolescu, braved a hail of gunfire and returned to that undamaged Apache, destroyed it with an IED, then bought precious time for Rambro and The Skipper to make their escape.
As Rambro virtually dragged The Skipper southeast along the taxiway, Vet made a desperate fighting retreat to the northwest along that same taxiway. Searchlights swept the airfield seeking out the saboteurs. Peoples’ Militia in Hummers, Jeeps, and Land Rovers scoured the facility, shooting at any perceived movement. Blood poured from Vet’s broken nose, sustained when an IED blast slammed him face-first down upon the tarmac. A 7.62 mm AK-47 round grazed his right shoulder resulting in further blood loss. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he was also suffering from a concussion.
A half-mile further up the taxiway, Vet made a left turn and headed due west toward two huge storage tanks full of aviation fuel. He perforated the storage tanks with several rounds from his Glock 9mm pistol, then ignited the fuses on his two remaining IEDs and tossed one IED at each storage tank.
As Vet continued running westward toward the perimeter fence, he heard the two IEDs explode to his rear. Then, he felt searing heat on his backside, as the two fuel storage tanks erupted like volcanoes. Vet didn’t waste time looking back, he just kept on running toward the perimeter fence.
By now, Rambro and The Skipper had made their escape and Vet decided it was time for him to do likewise. Vet dove to the ground as he reached the perimeter fence, then used his wire snippers to cut a small opening in the chain link. He squeezed through the fence and continued running westward. His gait was now more of a continuous stumble than an actual run.
The few remaining ranchers in Fallon had been jarred awake by the explosions, gunfire, and sirens emanating from the former Naval Air Station. Fred & Toni Kilmer’s ranch bordered Top Gun on the west. Most of the Fallon farm area had been consolidated into large, inefficient collective farms managed by inept bureaucrats and worked by unskilled and unmotivated immigrants. The Kilmer’s ranch was extremely efficient, which meant that The Collective must soon absorb it too, and the Kilmer’s knew it was only a matter of time.
As Fred & Toni stood out on their cold, dark, back porch, still in their night clothes, they couldn’t believe the hell that had been unleashed over at Top Gun. A dark figure slowly emerged from the smoke, backlit by the blazing fuel storage tanks. A bloody and barely conscious John Nicolescu fell, face-down, at the Kilmer’s back porch steps,
John drifted in and out of consciousness during the hour-long truck ride into Reno. Toni Kilmer had a little medical training and knew that John needed professional medical treatment. Fred figured that John had been involved in that night’s party over at the airfield and thought it best to get him off the ranch and out of Fallon ASAP. Without delay, they loaded John into the back of their flatbed farm truck and headed into Reno.
Reno
The Latter-days Saints’ Safe House was located near the former University of Nevada-Reno campus. A local trauma surgeon was also the underground LDS Bishop. The Safe House served a dual purpose as the Bishop’s storehouse. The food, clothing, and other supplies at the storehouse were available to help the needy and, at the moment, John was about as needy as a man could be.
A secret LDS Ward held their weekly sacrament meetings at the Safe House. The building had been recently boarded up and condemned by the Reno Collective. Unknown to the Reno Collective, several Members on its Housing Committee were also parishioners of the underground LDS Ward. This was the perfect cover for the Safe House.
John Nicolescu spent the next several weeks recuperating in a secret room in the attic of that Safe House. The building was over 150 years old and John found a few artifacts in an old steamer trunk tucked away in a hidden alcove in his attic hideout. The trunk was secured to the floor and could not be moved. It appeared empty, but, upon careful inspection, John determined that the trunk had a false bottom. John busted through that false bottom and found a couple of interesting items. One of those artifacts was an intricately designed bullwhip. John’s father, Stefan, had taught John at a young age how to use a bullwhip. John had no clue as to where, or when, Stefan had acquired that skill.
This bullwhip was not your typical whip. It had a somewhat longer handle and was fashioned from a very supple, yet durable leather. The handle was leather covered with an Australian Gold Victoria Half Sovereign set into its pommel. John then recalled that his Dad had described how the finest target whips were made from kangaroo hide. The kangaroo hide was more durable, more supple, and easier worked than rawhide.
Wrapped in kraft
paper, lying in the bottom of the steamer trunk right next to the bullwhip, John discovered a man’s black, oiled canvas, hooded, riding cloak. As John’s health improved, he began donning that cloak and taking long early morning walks to regain his strength and avoid going absolutely stir crazy.
John would don the black cloak and carefully navigate the deserted late-night Reno streets to an old, abandoned warehouse. There, John would pull the bullwhip from under his cloak and practice the fine art of whip cracking. Soon, John became almost as accurate with that whip as young Adam Jackson was with his sniper rifle.
On a dark, moonless night in early June, John kept to the shadows as he walked along the Truckee River Walk in downtown Reno. John was enjoying yet another uneventful summer’s night stroll and was looking forward to his whip cracking practice session.
Not far from the abandoned warehouse, he heard what sounded like crying issuing from a nearby alley. At first, he thought it was the cry of an old alley cat. Then he peered around the corner, into the dark, rat infested alley. He saw a disgusting sight. A Peoples’ Militiaman was stomping the life out of an old White gentleman lying prostrate upon the sidewalk.
John crept even closer, keeping to the shadows.
The Militiaman was thoroughly enjoying this night’s work, “Where’s your God now, you filthy Jewish piece of shit?”
“Please, I have some gold, some silver, please.”
“I know you have gold and silver, you’re a Jew. I’ll confiscate that after you’re dead.”
As the Militiaman pulled out a red handled machete, intent upon beheading the old man, John reached for the bullwhip. Milliseconds after the tip of John’s whip broke the sound barrier, its violent impact broke every bone in the Militiaman’s hand and sent the machete flying across the alley. The next crack of John’s whip sent the Militiaman to the hell he so richly deserved.
John grabbed the red machete, then picked the old man up off the pavement and carried him back to the hidden room in the Safe House attic. With the aid of his Mormon benefactors, John slowly nursed the old Jew back to health.