by Roger Weston
Meg eyed Lomax. “Maybe we’d better get out of here before everyone catches on to what’s happening.”
“Come on,” he said.
They were going out the back door when a shooter from another one of the mobile homes opened up on them. Meg dove back through the door, doing a summersault as she landed. Bullets slammed into the door behind her, and the moment she stopped rolling, Lomax landed on top of her.
“Are you all right?” Lomax climbed onto his knees.
“I think so.”
“We survived,” she said. “Thank God for that. We may have just bought ourselves another half hour.”
“That’s really comforting.” Lomax stood up.
“It’s all we’ve got. We might as well enjoy it, right?”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” Lomax said.
“If you don’t laugh now, you may not get another chance.” She looked over at the file cabinets. She walked toward the first one and opened the top drawer.
“That’s not a good idea,” Lomax said. “A gunman with a scope could drop you.”
“The window will have a reflection. Anyway, what do I care if I die now or in an hour?”
“I’ll try to come up with a plan.” Lomax opened and closed drawers and found some duct tape. He walked into the other room. Meg heard duct tape sounds as Lomax dealt with their former interrogator and guard.
Meg scanned the file tabs. When she spotted a file with the label “Rock Quarry,” she paged through it, but the information was worthless. It contained aerial photographs and a lot of site information, but it was all generic. There was not a single mention of a name. There was no lease and no connection to Harding.
She quickly realized, however, that these files were about more than just sand and gravel. She found extensive files on a nuclear waste dump site in Texas. On the surface it appeared to be a legal enterprise. She found a couple of cut-out newspaper articles and even photos of Texas politicians touring the site.
She moved onto the next drawer, scanning file tabs for evidence to incriminate Harding Corp. in illegal activities. Among the files, Meg spotted a name she had seen before, Paul Priest. She remembered seeing the name on a note in Eric’s file. This file said he was working on a ship that was involved in something called the “Aleutian Project.” The ship was called the Sturgeon.
She was vaguely aware of Lomax as he paced from one room to another. Why would Eric have a note with this person’s name on it? She continued her search.
In the back of another file, she spotted a letter. It contained no names or addresses. The letter referred to an undisclosed site ‘J’ and gave a general explanation about a mineral called Molybdenum, which was thereafter referred to as Molly. Molly was used in alloy steels, and whoever wrote the letter said site ‘J’ was under consideration. No further explanation was given. The reason this caught her attention was that she also recognized a number on this page. The number was 2623. She had seen that number before but couldn’t remember where. Apparently, 2623 was the melting point in Celsius for Molybdenum. The mineral was coveted for its high melting point. She pocketed the letter. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find any evidence to link Harding to anything illegal. She opened more drawers and slammed them shut.
Lomax came out of the other room. “Find anything useful in those file cabinets?”
“Nothing. It all looks legitimate.” Meg stepped up beside a window and peeked out. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I’ve been watching the windows in the back to see what’s going on behind us. Keep an eye out on that excavator.” He hurried back into the bedroom.
She frowned and watched the excavator while Lomax flitted around the mobile home, peaking out other windows and trying to gauge the situation. Meg checked on the unconscious guard. His condition hadn’t changed any.
When Lomax rejoined Meg in the main room, he said, “Any action out there?”
“I’m still waiting.”
“Cover the door. If anyone comes through it, shoot them, but stay behind the door jam so they don’t return the favor. I don’t see any way out. They’ve got us covered from two sides, and there’s no place to go on the other two.”
Meg pointed at the excavator. “We’ve got them pinned down too. You think they’ve got walkie-talkies?”
Lomax nodded without looking at her. Meg looked out a side window toward the parking lot where the employee cars were parked. Movement behind a window of the other mobile home distracted her attention.
“They may be planning to storm us.”
Meg sat down. Her rifle rested across her lap, the barrel pointed at the front door.
“What are you doing?”
“Relaxing. If they do try to storm us, we’ll be ready for the action when it begins.” She stretched.
“Maybe they’ll negotiate.” Lomax glanced back at the unconscious guard on the floor. “We trade him for a ticket out of here.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“We’ll have them leave one of those trucks by the front door.”
Meg stood up. “We may have a problem.” She moved toward the window. The excavator was no longer sitting idle. The tracks were rolling in their direction. It was coming straight for the mobile home as the big hydraulic arm lifted up and extended outward.
“What are they planning on doing with that?” Lomax said.
“Ever heard the story of the Trojan Horse?”
He nodded. “You think men are hiding behind it?”
Meg shrugged. “At the speed that thing’s moving, we’ll know within a minute. Either way, we may have to move quickly.”
“They’re lifting the excavator arm,” Lomax said.
Meg shook her head. “Doesn’t look good.”
The excavator continued its slow trek toward the mobile home. Meg saw a man who was walking behind it step out momentarily to take a look, but he quickly disappeared behind his cover again.
Meg kicked out the window and fired a couple of shots at the cab. The glass spider-webbed, but didn’t shatter.
Within moments, the excavator’s long arm was draping over the house.
Meg looked up at the ceiling. “They’re gonna take off the roof.”
“No, they’ve got a guy in here.” Lomax had barely finished his sentence when the house began to shake. A loud, ripping, snapping sound came with it as the massive steel arm and dirt scooper tore through the rafters.
Meg ran out of the way as the hydraulic arm smashed the floor where she had just been standing. She stood with her back to a wall as the big arm rose back up through the roof.
Lomax ran for the door.
“Wait,” Meg said. She kneeled down by the unconscious guard and rifled through his pockets until she found his car keys.
The roof above her began to collapse as the hydraulic arm broke through again. Meg dove out of the way, landing and rolling. She climbed up on her knees in time to see the huge steel bucket crush the guard and push him through the floor. Meg joined Lomax at the back door. She opened it slightly, but a couple of shots from the other mobile home forced her back. She got down and returned fire.
Moments later, the long hydraulic arm from the excavator ripped through another section of roof, collapsing walls, turning the entire house into a death trap as the massive steel claw dragged framing and electrical wires across what used to be the living room. The sound of exploding windows filled the air. The arm stopped and lifted up again. Meg looked at the last two places where the arm had come down and she realized that the next place over was right where she and Lomax were standing. They were about to get crushed.
“It’s coming. Get out of here.”
They ran out of the back door firing, unloading their clips toward the window where they’d received fire from the mobile home. They darted for the parking lot and got there as automatic fire peeled across the truck they took cover behind, shattering windows and putting holes in the front quarter panel.
Meg opened the truck doo
r while staying down low and tried the key in the ignition. It didn’t fit. Lomax continued to provide cover as Meg crawled from truck to truck, testing the key. The key fit the third truck down. Keeping low, Meg crawled in and yelled for Lomax.
He came tearing around the last vehicle and leaped into the truck through the passenger door. Meg slammed the stick shift into gear. As the rear tires shot up a rooster tail of dust and gravel, Lomax slammed a new clip into his M-16 and opened up on the shooter, raining the mobile home with gunfire.
Amazingly, they got off the property with the truck only taking several hits, none enough to stop it.
“Slow down,” Lomax said. “You’ll get us killed.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, they’ll be in those trucks and after us in about a minute.”
“Not likely. I slashed a tire on each truck.”
She turned and smiled at John. “Not bad for an old football player.” She hit the gas accidentally and the truck swerved, but she corrected it.
Meg slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “I’ve got to get something on them. They won’t stop until they get what they are after. Me!”
CHAPTER 41
Anchorage, Alaska
Carl Johnson sat alone in a foldout director’s chair next to his Lear jet. The pilots were having breakfast over in the hanger, which was fifty yards away. Seven secret service men stood in front of the hanger, two of them talking. Carl didn’t know what they were saying, but he was sure it was related to security. Lifting his binoculars, Carl watched the incoming jet, Air Force One, while scanning the edge of the runway, where groups of three or four armed soldiers stood at intervals. He lowered his binoculars and enjoyed the moment. There were no reporters, no local politicians, and no spectators hoping to get a glimpse of the president. Just Carl. Even the security detail had been ordered to stay at a distance.
The wheels of Air Force One screeched on the runway, and within minutes, the famous jet rolled to a stop next to Carl’s Lear. As the door opened and the stairs folded down, two Chevy Suburbans eased out of the hanger and waited with their engines purring and music blasting from their speakers.
The president, who was Carl’s cousin, emerged from the plane alone and joined him. President Stall was a thin and attractive woman with wise eyes. She had dark-brown hair and wore a blue suit. Carl strolled with her down the runway, just the two of them. Half a dozen men of the secret service walked as well, but kept fifty yards away to either side. The only other people nearby were driving the Suburbans, one of which was a hundred yards ahead and the other as far behind, the rock music turned up now to foil any sort of audio surveillance, which in any case was unlikely given how tightly the secret service and the military had the airfield tied down. But even trusted servants couldn’t be trusted.
“What’s going on?” the president said.
When Carl looked over at her, he was still trying to decide which shade of the truth he should put forth. After all, circumstances in the field were always changing, so anything he told her would be essentially history and false. Still, the president was shrewd and powerful and pitiless with relatives who betrayed her, so Carl had to get the essentials right. “We’re working on our problem in Idaho.” He talked just loudly enough to be heard by her under the music.
“Working?” she said, an edge on her voice.
“A minor glitch, but nothing we won’t have mopped up in the next few hours.”
“Glitch?”
“Meg is more elusive than we thought she would be. Just a minor delay though.”
The president stopped walking and gave him a withering glare. “What’s the problem?”
“There is no problem. We will have her soon. She’s just a drama professor, a really soft target. She won’t last a week. Frankly, I’d be surprised if she lasted another twenty-four hours.”
The president resumed walking down the runway. “Think of who she was married to. Eric Coles was the most hunted man in the world and he survived for ten years.”
“She didn’t know who her husband was. She was oblivious, which shows what easy prey she is. She has no idea what peril she’s in.”
“Make her gone, Carl. Make it happen fast.”
“Yeah, yeah, no problem. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it like I always do.”
The president stopped abruptly and glared at him. Over her shoulder, Carl noticed that the three secret service men, fifty yards away, also stopped. The Suburbans a hundred yards ahead and behind stopped, too, although the rapid beat of the music continued.
“My men are already closing in,” Carl spat out.
Her glare affected Carl’s blood pressure. “You will hurt for this,” she said, her voice hoarse and quiet. “My presidency on the line, and you take risks.”
“No way. It’s a standard job with recovery contingency.”
“Standard?”
The president glared at him with anger. “I want her gone.”
Carl stepped back and raised his hands, his palms open. “Don’t forget, my neck is on the line too. I know what I’m doing.”
“Make it happen. Now.”
CHAPTER 42
The Sturgeon
Marcel was summoned to Alaska again. What the hell did Carl want this time? He was getting tired of taking these little puddle thumpers or jumpers, or whatever they were called, to the ends of the earth. The old man in the coal mines never had to put up with crap like this. At least they let him do his job.
The marine engines of the Sturgeon were running, but the ship was idle. Marcel followed Carl and the first mate into the wheelhouse. The captain was actually working joysticks to navigate the boat, not exactly what Marcel would have expected.
Carl turned to the first mate. “Get all hands on deck. I want them ready in fifteen minutes.”
“What for, sir?”
“We’re speeding up the offload.”
The first mate nodded and pushed the button on the ship-wide intercom system. “Attention. All hands on deck in fifteen minutes and ready to work.” He repeated the order.
When the crew was ready, three cranes began hoisting big containers of nuclear waste over the side and releasing them—one after another. Over a period of four hours, over one hundred shipping containers of Chinese-generated nuclear waste were dumped.
While the work was going on, Marcel wandered around and stayed out of the way. After several hours, Carl invited Marcel to join him in the office. Marcel got there first and sat down. He thought of his recent performance and knew in his gut that he could do better, much better.
Carl arrived and slid into a chair across the table, smoothing his white hair with a pale hand. He peered critically at Marcel. “This operation is about to mushroom in size. Your job is becoming more essential to our success.”
Marcel listened to Carl’s lecture as his boss typed on a calculator, adding up numbers and working out projections on how many hundreds of millions of dollars he would make if he cornered the radioactive waste market by securing agreements with Italy, France, Norway, and China, to dispose of all their waste. After adding in his biggest customer, the Department of Energy, his projections made him and his partner billionaires in ten years.
“Who’s your partner?” Marcel asked, but immediately felt foolish for having done so.
Carl glared at him. Ignoring the question, he continued to lecture. “The projections are not new. I’ve been over them dozens of times, but they are always fascinating. Italy and China are practically locked up. France and Norway are in ongoing discussions. Everyone is eager to use the United States as the waste dump for the world. American politicians in both parties are clamoring to support their big campaign contributors, which is why I’ve managed to ram sweetheart deals through Texas, Vermont and Idaho. But I can save a fortune in fuel and manpower by dumping the cargoes at sea. More importantly, space will be preserved in my landfills, space that is needed to guarantee future contracts.” Carl threw his papers in the trash and started his
calculations over.
The captain entered, looking weary from lack of sleep.
“Sir, a helicopter is approaching from starboard.”
Carl nodded as though irritated by the interruption and shooed the captain with a hand gesture. The captain left quickly.
“You will get the job done in Boise,” Carl said to Marcel. “I have big plans for you. You have a chance to do very well for yourself. You’ll see your responsibilities grow very soon. But you have to take care of Meg Coles. She could jeopardize everything.”
Marcel nodded. For the first time in his life, he felt proud of what he did for a living. He felt proud to know that he was working for a man who was changing the world for the better and playing hardball to make sure it really happened. He wasn’t sure of all the details, but he’d seen Carl’s passion, and he knew that Carl was sincere. Carl’s waste disposal techniques were saving thousands of lives. Marcel was thankful that he was not wasting his life. Even if Marcel died carrying out his duties, he was dying for something now, to make the world a better place. He’d never envisioned himself like this before. He wasn’t just working for a check anymore. He was working for a man on the short list for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Carl pushed a button on his desk. A tall, lean man with dark hair, chiseled muscles, and a fresh tan walked in holding a briefcase tightly at his side.
“Welcome,” Carl said to the stranger.
Marcel didn’t like the look of the man. His hands looked as if he had never seen a day of hard labor.
“My friend,” Carl said, looking at Marcel. “Miss Coles, drama professor from nowhere, has somehow eluded your efforts. Jose here is top of the line. He’s never failed. He will be working with you now.”
Marcel felt the blood rushing to his face. “This is not a big deal. All I need is a couple more days alone. I prefer to work alone.”
Carl narrowed his eyes. “Alone? Apparently you can’t handle such a simple task yourself. Jose has never failed.”