Rebecca looked at Marc.
“Fine with me,” Marc said.
“We’ll be there in twenty minutes, Mr. Trombly.”
Phillip ended the call. “Okay, Trombly’s expecting us. You ready to go?”
Marc glanced at Rebecca. “We’re ready.”
“We’ll take my truck. Mr. Trombly has expedited your passes and alerted the gate that we’ll be coming through.”
Phillip hesitated, then looked at Marc “Uh, look, if you’re armed, you should leave your weapon here. It’ll be confiscated if you’re caught bringing it on the Site.”
Marc pulled his jacket open, revealing his H&K. “Where can I leave it?”
“Whoa, heavy metal. Yeah, you better leave that here, somewhere,” Phillip said.
“I’ll lock it in the trunk of my car,” Rebecca said.
Fifteen minutes later Marc saw the glow of the Site’s floodlights lighting up the dark sky ahead, then the security booths came into view. Phillip maneuvered the F-150 into one of the entrance lanes.
“Let me do the talking,” Phillip said as he rolled up to one of the security booths.
“Hey Phil, we’ve been looking for you. Mr. Trombly has been in communication with us. Understand you’re bringing in a couple of visitors.”
“Yeah, he said you’d have their visitors badges ready,” Phillip said.
“Yep, they’ve already been processed. Got’em right here,” the guard said. He reached around a computer screen and retrieved an envelope. Just have them clip them on, you know the drill. Trombly’s waiting for you at the Main Security Building.”
“Thanks, later,” Phillip said. He handed Rebecca the envelope, and pulled away.
Entering the Site, Marc noticed that the entire roadway was bright with HID lighting. Within a few minutes he saw a discreet “Security” sign mounted on a pole in front of a two-story brick building. Phillip pulled the truck into a small parking area that was designated for “Visitors Only.” There appeared to be a man in a business suit along with two other men wearing camouflage gear standing near the front entrance, one much taller than the other. “Looks like Trombly has arranged a welcoming committee for you,” Phillip said.
The three of them walked quickly to where the man was standing.
“Mr. Trombly, this is Rebec…” Phillip started, motioning toward Rebecca, but was quickly cut off.
“We’ll do introductions inside,” Trombly said. The taller uniformed man opened the glassed entrance door. “Inside, everyone. Take them to the conference room, upstairs.”
Inside the building, Marc noticed a receptionist’s desk with a tired looking woman sitting behind it. She glanced up, and then returned her attention to the computer screen in front of her.
Trombly motioned toward Phillip, “You can return to the main security building.”
“Yes sir, but…”
“No worries. You did good, but we need to discuss what these people know in private.”
“Uh, yes sir.” Phillip said, reluctantly.
Trombly motioned toward the camouflaged men who turned and led the way toward a set of stairs. At the top of the stairwell, a short hallway led to a room with a long table. There were at least a dozen chairs arranged around it.
Trombly directed Rebecca and Marc to seats at one end of the table, across from each other. Trombly took the chair at the end, facing them. The uniformed men took their seats next to Rebecca and Marc. The shorter uniformed man retrieved a recording device from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table. The guard pressed a button and a red light blinked on.
Trombly cleared his throat, apparently to get Marc and Rebecca’s attention. “First of all, I want to thank you for your cooperation. I, we, the United States government appreciate your coming in to talk to us about what you have learned. As you can imagine, if what Phillip has informed me is true, then we have to assume that there has been a serious breach of intelligence. Although we are recording what is said tonight,” Trombly said, tipping his head toward the recorder, “Please understand, this is highly confidential. You are not to repeat anything you hear or learn while you’re present here at the Site or anywhere else. Is that understood?”
Both Marc and Rebecca nodded that they did.
Anywhere else? Marc thought.
“Good. For the purposes of this recording, my name is Jack Trombly, head of security at the Savannah River Site. Today’s date is April the tenth. We are meeting at the Site’s Security office regarding the matter of a possible security breach. There are two witnesses to this breach and they are present here at the Site to give their statements. Please state your names, one at a time starting with you, miss,” Trombly said, motioning toward Rebecca.
Rebecca’s voice was firm, “My name is Rebecca Tripp, with two p’s.”
Marc glanced down at the device. “Marc LaRose,” he said in a clear voice.
“Fine. Now let’s discuss just how you learned of this possible security breach. Ms. Tripp, let’s begin with you. Please speak clearly, and in the interest of time, keep your remarks succinct and to the point.”
“While working security at the Monarch Golf Tournament in Augusta this past week, I noticed a group of men, three men, of possible Middle Eastern descent acting in a manner that caused me to believe that they could be up to something and appeared to have little interest in the golf tournament. During my surveillance of the men earlier today, I noticed they had gathered in the vicinity of the eighteenth green, when suddenly they vacated the premises just before the gas attack. I have since conducted a trace of their vehicle. It was rented to a man by the name of Ackerman who used a Florida driver’s license. I met Mr. LaRose as he was leaving the tournament grounds today and advised him of my suspicions. Then, earlier this evening, Mr. LaRose and I had the opportunity to visit an irrigation company in Aiken that does business at the golf course. While we were there, we learned that the owner of the business is monitoring the Jackson entrance to the Savannah River Site via a video camera.
“Ms. Tripp, what does the presence of these men at the course have to do with monitoring the Jackson gate?”
“While we were at the Apex plant earlier this evening, we overheard the Apex plant manager, a man named Akhtar, say that he intended to hijack the load of nuclear material that is leaving the Site this evening with the intent of detonating the load as it passes through the city of Atlanta later tonight. That’s when we called Phillip, and here we are.”
Trombly was silent for a moment. “Do you have anything to add, Mr. LaRose?”
“No, I think Rebecca’s told you all that we know.”
“Can either one of you identify this Akhtar?”
“We could hear what he was saying, but we didn’t actually see him,” Rebecca said.
Trombly drummed his fingers on the table as he seemed to consider what he’d heard. He motioned for the guard with the recording device to turn it off. “I’ll have to alert the OST, uh, Office of Secure Transportation, of what you’ve told us. It will be their decision, of course, but I doubt this revelation will change the timing or the route of travel of any shipment they have planned.”
Trombly glanced at the clock on the wall. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll be right back.” He rose from his chair and left the room.
Marc and Rebecca sat facing each other as they waited for Trombly to return. The two camouflaged guards remained sitting patiently on either side.
Ten minutes passed before Trombly finally came back into the room.
“Good news and bad news,” he said. “The bad news is that this shipment is time specific, it cannot wait.”
“So even though there’s information about a possible attack on the shipment, they’re going ahead with it anyway?” Marc asked.
“Circumstances dictate it. The good news, however, is OST is sending out two identical trucks, five minutes apart.”
“So they’re sending a decoy truck to try and confuse any would-be terrorist? How original,” Marc sa
id.
“It’s the best they can come up with on such short notice. Of course, in light of what you’ve told us, security will be greatly enhanced.”
“That’s comforting. You’re risking the lives of millions of people, hoping that a terrorist who has come into possession of the exact timing and route of travel of tons of highly explosive radioactive material will be fooled by the presence of a look-alike truck.”
“Sorry you don’t approve, Mr. LaRose. But you have to understand, OST has been moving radioactive material over the roadways of this country for the past forty years with never so much as a close call, much less a terrorist incident.”
“Whatever,” Marc said, his tone ripe with sarcasm.
Trombly hesitated. “Look at the bright side,” he said, his lips curling in a smirk.
“There’s a bright side?” Marc asked.
“In the interest of national security, and because you both have first-hand knowledge of this threat, the OST has directed that both you and Ms. Tripp will accompany the convoy as it travels through Atlanta tonight.”
Rebecca eyes widened. She looked at Marc. “I understand your reluctance. This is a first for us as well, but given the circumstances, OST had no other option. They have applied for, and received an emergency order from the district federal judge. Because the specific nature of the information you have come across could prevent an impending national disaster, you will remain in our custody until the threat has either been determined to be unfounded or has been neutralized.”
“You’re saying that because we came to you with this information, you’re forcing us to take a midnight ride to Atlanta along with a truck load of nuclear bombs?”
“Actually, there are only four, and they’re called Pits. In laymen’s terms, they’re the firing pin for a nuclear bomb. Practically speaking, they cannot be exploded on their own. It’s a highly complicated process for a Pit to become critical. However, the psychological effect of an impending nuclear explosion in a metropolitan area could cause massive panic.”
“Just four nuclear firing pins? Now that’s a relief,” Marc said, his sarcasm obvious.
“Look, Mr. LaRose, I understand your concern, but national security dictates that in situations such as the one we’re facing tonight, it is imperative that we follow certain protocols.”
Marc knew there was no use arguing. He glanced over at Rebecca, “Look, Mr. Trombly, there is no use involving Ms. Tripp in this. I know as much about this as she does, probably more.”
“Maybe you do, but according to her statement she apparently observed the terrorists at the golf course earlier today. That experience could be useful in identifying suspects that are encountered on the road.” Trombly glanced at the wall clock. “At any rate, time is not on our side. The load is scheduled to leave in a little over an hour. These two gentlemen,” Trombly motioned to the camouflaged duo, “will accompany you to the OST hanger. There you will meet your handlers who will brief you on the mission and get you suited up. I understand why you may have reservations about your impending journey, but the OST people are professionals. They’re the world’s best at what they do.”
Trombly arose from his chair. “Good evening Ms. Tripp, Mr. LaRose. Nice to have made your acquaintances and, like they say over at OST, “Bomb voyage!”
“Bet you just made that up?” Marc said as Trombly opened the door.
“Just for you, Mr. LaRose.” Trombly replied with a wide grin, and with that, he left the room.
The two uniformed men rose from their chairs. One of them, the taller of the two motioned toward the door. “Like the man just said, we’re up against the clock. Our job is to escort you to the hanger. There, you will receive further instructions.”
“Doesn’t sound like we have much choice,” Marc said.
The big guy just grinned while the other guard opened the door.
The taillights of an unmarked SUV blinked as they walked across the parking lot from the security headquarters.
“Mr. LaRose, please sit up front with me. Ms. Tripp will ride in the back seat.”
A short five minutes later, Marc observed a large Quonset hut type structure coming up ahead of them. The building’s two overhead doors were wide open. Bright light spilled out onto the pavement in front, illuminating the expansive parking lot. Marc noticed four oddly shaped vehicles of differing colors parked along the side of the building. Inside, Marc could see two tractor trailer trucks parked side by side, both facing the open doors.
“There’s your ride to Atlanta,” the driver said. He drove through one of the openings and parked off to one side of the semis. “Let’s go, I’ll introduce you to your handlers.”
Oh good, now we’re being handled.
Exiting the SUV, Marc observed a group of men sitting around a long picnic table at the back of the room, and like the two men that had brought him and Rebecca to the building, they were also dressed in military camouflage uniforms. As Marc got closer, he noticed a box of plastic take-out bags emblazoned with the “Chick-fil-A” logo on them.
One of Marc and Rebecca’s escorts approached a man sitting at the end of the table. The man appeared a bit older than the others and had just taken a bite of his sandwich. “Hey Tom, here are the people Trombly called you about.” Then pointing, he said, “This is Marc, and that there is Rebecca.”
Tom nodded, then casually took a draw from his drink. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Care for a sandwich? We appear to have an excess tonight.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No thanks.”
“Not hungry,” Marc replied.
“Last chance,” Tom said. “Looks like we may have a long night ahead of us, and once we start there’s no stopping until we get to where we’re going.”
“And just where would that be?” Marc asked
Tom looked up from the remains of his sandwich. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
At first Marc thought Tom was kidding, but when he didn’t return a smile, he wasn’t so sure.
“Do we get to ride in one of those big rigs?” Rebecca asked.
Tom laid the uneaten portion of his sandwich on the wrapper in front of him and again wiped his mouth. “The short answer is no. Neither of you have the appropriate clearance or the training to sit in an SGT semi carrying nuclear material. No, you’ll both be assigned to ride in separate MGT’s.”
“SGTs, MGTs? Can you translate?” Rebecca asked.
“Sorry, that’s OST speak. SGTs are the haulers, semi tractor-trailer trucks, called Safeguard Transporters. They’re specially built to carry nuclear Pits as well as any other radioactive material over the nation’s roadways. MGTs, or Mobile Guardian Transporters are those odd-looking buggies parked out front.” Tom motioned to the vehicles Marc had noticed before. “We use them to help guard the SGTs from attack. We’ll have four MGTs on this trip, one following each semi, plus one in the lead and another trailing behind. And because you asked, young lady, you have the privilege of riding with me in the lead MGT. Your boyfriend will follow us in the tail,” Tom said, nodding in Marc’s direction.
“Sounds like you have this pretty well covered,” Marc said.
“As you can imagine when it comes to hauling nuclear material over public highways, it’s best to err on the side of caution. We’ll also have a bird, a helicopter, with spotters above us at all times. Plus, we have people covering the overpasses just in case someone gets cute and decides they’d like to drop something on, or in front of, one of the trucks.”
“Impressive,” Marc said.
Tom eyed Marc, then he looked at Rebecca. “You’ll both need to get dressed. We can’t have you standing around in your civvies. Some people could get the idea you were nuclear physicists or something. Just as well have a target on your backs. There are locker rooms over there,” he said motioning toward two doors at the back end of the building. “I’ll have one of the guys show you where we keep the extra suits. I believe we still have a couple female sets left.�
��
“You mean, at one time there were more?” Rebecca asked.
“You don’t want to know,” he said with no change in his expression. He then eyed his watch. “Better get to it. We only have thirty minutes ‘til show time.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A few minutes later Rebecca and Marc emerged from their respective changing rooms. Marc stretched his arms out to his side. His shirt sleeves were a bit short, but his pants seemed fine.
“Not bad,” Tom said.
Rebecca’s set was obviously about two sizes too large.
Tom appeared to stifle a grin. “You’ll have to roll up your pant legs and maybe button up the top of your shirt. But other than that…” he said, not finishing his thought.
A set of headlights turned in the parking area in front of the building.
“This should be our SGT drivers,” Tom said.
A van pulled up in front of the open doors. Two men, one black and one white, along with two women emerged from the vehicle. They walked to where Marc, Rebecca and the OST men were gathered.
One of the women, the heavier of the two, glanced at her watch, then over to Tom.
Marc noticed a tattoo of a string of daisy flowers creeping up her neck from under the collar of her blue work shirt.
“Almost that time. You guys about ready to mount up?” she said.
“We’re ready. Just a small change of plans,” Tom said.
The woman looked at Rebecca, then at Marc. “Yeah, I heard we were going to have some company on this run.”
“We’ve developed some intel that the timing of our trip may have been compromised. Mr. Smith thinks these two,” motioning toward Rebecca and Marc, “may have come across some information that could be useful. He’s obtained a federal court order to retain both, pending the outcome of our run this evening.”
“What kind of intel?” one of the drivers asked.
“We overheard a conversation between two men that we suspect may have had something to do with the gas attack at the Monarch Golf Tournament today,” Marc said.
Masters of Terror: A Marc LaRose Mystery Page 20