“The Turks will finally close the Bosporus to the Russian Tankers. This will mean they must build expensive pipelines, and every time they do we will destroy them. We will empty the coffers of these Russian when they can’t ship their precious oil.”
Kerim didn’t answer. He watched the ocean foam below the tanker, and the lights of Istanbul fade in the background. A light ocean breeze picked up as the ship turned its bow into the Sea of Marmara, on its way into the Aegean Sea and the Mediterranean. The air was fresh and clean. Kerim breathed in deeply and wished he were somewhere else. He loved nature, clean water, flying birds. The contents of the hold were brimming with death for the sea and all sea creatures. He wondered if he had the stomach to go through with the mission.
18
From the level of activity in the building, it was evident that something major had developed as Bernadette and Anton walked in. Agents huddled around laptops in offices and pointed at data, waving their hands, as if they were manufacturing new facts in thin air.
Anton looked at Bernadette. “Looks like something’s happened. Get a coffee, and I’ll meet you in my office.”
Bernadette smiled. “So, I’m cleared for intelligence service, but not that cleared.”
Anton said, “Let’s say, if I have you wandering around the building and Patterson sees you, he’s liable to remember why he doesn’t like you—again.”
Bernadette patted Anton’s shoulder. “Not a problem, you have real gourmet coffee here. It makes the RCMP stuff look like sludge. I’ll be in your office kicking back until you return the Intel. I think I might get to like this assignment.”
Anton shook his head and walked away. “Yes, I’m just here to look after your every need.”
Bernadette found the agency coffee room, and put in a coffee capsule of Columbian Supreme and added the half and half coffee cream from the fridge and her usual large dose of sugar. She was just muttering to herself how she could get used to this when Anton walked back in the room.
“Hey, you’ve got to come with me.”
“I thought I was going to be in the way.”
Anton just shook his head. “Look, just follow me. You’ve got to see this latest satellite feed of the Russian pipeline from the CIA.”
Bernadette followed Anton down the hall to the main situation room. An array of large screen monitors displayed various geography from around the world. The center screen held a latitude and longitude for Russia. A long length of pipeline was disappearing before their eyes.
A group of agents milled around the screen, pointing out the progression of the destruction on the line. An agent sitting at a desk with a laptop was punching up other sites and satellite photos. Patterson stood there, arms crossed, giving commands for different satellite views.
Anton and Bernadette stood at the back of the room; Anton leaned over and said, “This is the CIA Satellite over Samara, the area where they lost the terrorists.”
Bernadette didn’t look at Anton; her eyes were transfixed on the screen. The pipeline was vanishing—a wake of black oil left in its path. A small army of trucks was racing alongside it. “Is this real time?”
“Yes, it is,” Anton said. He looked down at this cell phone and started to read a text. “The Russians says a main pumping station got hit by terrorists a half hour ago. They blew themselves up, and took some soldiers with them. They assume the Bio Bugs stolen from the University of Victoria are responsible for this destruction.”
“Can you send the Russians a message, and tell them the only way to stop the pipeline destruction is to break it, like a fire break in a forest fire?” Bernadette asked, looking at Anton.
“How do you know this?”
“Just send them the message. I’ll tell you later.” Bernadette looked back at the screen. Two trucks stopped beside the pipeline. Small figures ran frantically around the trucks. They looked like they were trying to close valves.
Anton tapped furiously on his cell and hit send. “Now you want to tell me why you think this will work?”
Bernadette looked up at Anton, and with all the seriousness she could muster, said, “My next door neighbor is a retired oil worker. He said the only way to stop the bugs would be to break the pipeline. You can’t do it with valves because all the closures in the pipeline are metal and they’ll eat right through them.”
Anton ran his hand though his hair. He gazed at his cell phone. “The Russians got the text, and my contact hopes you’re right.”
They looked back at the satellite image again. Two more trucks had stopped beside the pipeline. This time the images showed the trucks start to fade away. Only tires remained. Human figures ran away from the carnage. Bernadette stared hard at the image. What was happening to the trucks . . . was this a bad satellite feed?
The satellite followed the pipeline over mountains and through forests, and across streams; it was still being destroyed before their eyes. Someone in the crowd of agents called out, “We estimate the destruction at eighty kilometers an hour, and it is increasing speed by three kilometers every two minutes.”
“My God, how is it possible to be gaining speed?” Anton asked.
“The professor said at the University he thought the bugs would do this. He said they were learning as they were released into the oil,” Bernadette said.
The next image the satellite showed was a long valley, the pipeline dropped down sharply toward a large river. Black smoke could be seen just before the river. Two large bulldozers pushed hard at the trestles of the pipeline. The satellite zoomed in on them as they rammed into the trestle, then backed up, and rammed hard again.
The trestle swayed, and then collapsed, taking the pipeline along as it collapsed into the river below. The pipe was broken, spewing its oil down the sides of the bank and spilling into the rushing water. Inky black foam appeared in the river. The bulldozer operators stopped their machines and watched the destruction of the pipeline coming toward them.
The destruction stopped at the broken pipe. The pipeline on the other side of the river did not disappear. A cheer went up in the situation room from all the agents. Anton turned to Bernadette. “I’ll have the Russians send a thank you note to your friend, perhaps some Vodka and caviar?”
Bernadette put her hand up. “Save it. My neighbor, Harvey Mawer, is second generation German-Canadian. His grandfather was a German soldier who perished in a Russian prisoner of war camp—and he hates caviar—calls it fish bait.”
Anton was about to say something when the voice of Chief Patterson was heard throughout the room. “Attention everyone. The show is over, all those working this case specially follow me, the rest of you, get back to your other cases and duties.”
Anton, Bernadette, and four other agents followed the Chief down the hallway. They entered a small meeting room and took their seats. Patterson took his place at the head of the table, and looked at the agents on his left. “Well, we’ve just seen a demonstration of how destructive these Bio Bugs can be and how they can be stopped. Are there any reports from our scientists about how these things can destroyed?”
The agent with the identification badge, Clayton Jessup, fumbled with his cell phone and scrolled through his notes. “I’ve been in contact with two universities and three major oil companies. They all say that this biological organism is beyond anything they have ever seen. One oil company claims they could have an answer inside of three months, but the universities say it would take them longer.”
Patterson turned to another female agent who was sporting the name Brittany Krieger on her ID badge. “Where does that put us?”
Agent Krieger tapped on her computer. “Sir, if the Bio Bugs were reproduced and exposed to major pipelines—and with the rate of acceleration we’ve just seen . . .” She paused as if she couldn’t believe the answer appearing on her screen, “It would mean some fifty to seventy percent of North America’s and Europe’s pipelines destroyed inside three months.”
Patterson looked around the table. “I
think we now know our objective—it would be to find this Professor Alistair McAllen, and hopefully, if you can track this man as quickly as you say you can Detective Callahan, we may find a way to stop these things sooner.” Patterson’s gaze rested on Bernadette.
She felt his gaze, and the eyes of all those around table, burning a hole into her. She doubted if she had ever felt more outside of her own comfort zone, and more vulnerable. She had to succeed. She’d need something more than her intuition; she would need hard work, and a damn good dose of luck.
19
FBI Agents Carla Winston and Luis Valdes watched undercover agent Sarah Collins pull out of the parking lot of the Marriott Courtyard Hotel in Missoula and head down the highway. Talbert Hensley was slumped down in the passenger seat. It was 7:30 a.m., much earlier than they had ever hit the road, and a whole day ahead of when Sarah had said they would depart.
Carla instructed two agents in a green pickup truck to begin the first shift on following them. She took a sip of her coffee and said, “Well, let’s see where they’re headed today.”
Luis Valdes pulled their car out of the parking lot, and waited a good five minutes before joining traffic. The radio link in his ear was giving him instructions from the chase vehicle, “They say they’ve taken the 200. Got to be headed for Great Falls.”
“Yes they are. I’ll alert our Air Force drone to take over, and tell the chase car to hang back some five miles. That’s a quiet road, and Hensley will spot us if we follow too close,” Winston said.
“Copy that,” Valdes said. He set his jaw in a hard line, his fingers clenching the wheel.
“Something bugging you, Valdes?”
“Yeah, I want this mission to end with me putting Hensley’s face into the ground, and the capture of the all the other shitheads he’s working with.”
Winston stared at Valdes for a moment. “This guy’s really got to you, hasn’t he?”
Valdes turned towards Winston. “Look, like I said before, I’m all American, all FBI all the time, but putting a female agent in jeopardy like we are . . . well it just doesn’t feel right.”
“Damn it, Agent Luis Valdes, you all of sudden sprouted some man genes—God almighty, I almost like you.” Winston turned back toward the road, and sipped her coffee.
“I don’t know what you call it, but I know what I feel . . .” Valdes put his hand to his earphone. “The forward tail thinks they’ve been spotted . . . they’re pulling off the road.”
“Shit, what kind of rookie agents have I got here that they can’t do an easy tail in the back of goddamn Montana?” Winston finished her coffee and threw the empty cup into the back seat.
Sarah Collins pulled the car over. Hensley was getting agitated. “See, I told you, four cars back—green pickup. I made that asshole right out of the parking lot. See, that son of bitch, you see him . . . son of bitch . . . fucking Feds’ all over the fucking place.” He bounced in his seat as he crouched down looking into the side mirror.
Sarah turned her head and looked back down the road. “Hensley, that pickup truck just turned off down there. That’s no tail, that’s a freaking coincidence of some Montana farmers or oil workers going to work. It is the goddamn morning. And why the hell did we have to get up and go right away this morning? I thought you wanted to stay another day. We even paid for the night.”
Hensley kept his head down, watching the side mirror. “Look, we got things to do today, got to put some miles on . . . now get back on the road.”
Sarah watched Hensley’s hand twitching. The heavy painkillers she had him on for his broken tooth and bruised jaw were probably producing some side effects. She wondered if she should up his dosage, but she needed him lucid for the directions to the other parties of his mission. Hopefully at the end of this day, there would be a capture of his compatriots, and she would be free of this.
Winston and Valdes hung back a good ten miles. Valdes was getting directions from the recon drone over head. By the time they reached Great Falls, there were two other FBI cars with them, and two others were joining them once they came into the city.
In Great Falls, the drone operator informed them the car carrying Sarah and Hensley had stopped in front of an electronics store on Highway 87. After the pair left the store, two agents rushed in to find out what they’d been doing there.
“Hensley bought a cell phone,” Valdes reported to Winston.
“A cell phone? Why the hell after all this time would he buy a cell phone? If he’d had a cell phone all this time, we wouldn’t need to be putting an agent in harm’s way to track his sorry ass.” Winston sat back in the passenger seat shaking her head.
The next stop was a small pawnshop. But Hensley didn’t go in. The drone observed him buying an object from a man beside a van. The image of the object the drone operator reported was a hand gun—large caliber.”
Winston almost vaulted out of her seat. “Now that little shit has got a piece? Well damn it, doesn’t that just sweeten this mission something awful?” She looked at Valdes. “You know if you want to shoot this son of bitch when we capture his friends, you be my guest . . . okay scratch that . . . just kidding.”
Valdes hands tightened on the wheel. “Heard you the first time.”
Sarah made a right turn out of the pawnshop parking lot, and headed the car onto Highway 87. Hensley sat beside her, placing the hollow point shells in the 357 Handgun he purchased in the parking lot. He now motioned with the gun, as if it was a pointer. Sarah could see the safety wasn’t on. For the first time in many months, she began to worry about her safety.
Winston was on her cell phone to FBI command. “Look, the guy’s got a gun; we are in a different situation all together. I want that Blackhawk and Army commando team scrambled ASAP. We’ve already figured were he’s going . . . yes that’s right, this 87 leads to the 2, and that leads to a whole bunch of pipelines and pumping stations. You tell those boys to be in the sky and be ready . . . because we are going to take down Hensley and his friends. And I don’t want my agent hurt . . . you got that?”
Winston dropped her phone to her lap. “My God, there was nothing in the psychological profile of this guy that showed him to be this out of character.”
“You mean like his DNA all over a dead female Agent? I think someone missed the character workup on this guy . . . big time,” Valdes said.
Hensley was starting to nod off. His right hand clutched the large caliber gun, and his left held the cell phone. Sarah kept the car at a steady 70 miles an hour on the two-lane secondary highway, avoiding any bumps in case the jolt would make the gun go off. Hensley’s finger was on the trigger, and Sarah glanced to see if his finger was twitching.
A half hour later, Hensley jolted awake. He aimed the gun at Sarah, and looked behind him, staring down the highway. “You see that green pickup that was following us?”
Rebecca glanced into the rearview mirror, “Hensley, I told you, that pickup turned off a side road. There’s nothing behind us but a bus that has been trying to pass me for the past twenty minutes.”
“Where are we?”
“We just turned onto Highway 2, and just outside of Havre. Which way do I turn?”
“Turn right, and stop in Havre, I gotta take a piss.” Hensley slumped back down into his seat. He pulled up his cell phone, and started texting.
The next thirty minutes went by slowly for Sarah. They stopped at a gas station in Havre, but Hensley told Sarah to stay in the car. She watched the bus pass them. A little girl waved at her from the window. After their road stop, Hensley was on his cell phone constantly texting back and forth between someone, somewhere. The gun lay in his lap, still pointed in her direction.
Just past Glasgow, Hensley told her to take a left on a small road called the 24. The signpost said Baylor and the Canadian Border.
The narrow road headed north, past wide-open prairie, and a few signs that said “No Hunting” that were riddled with bullet holes. A hawk flew overhead while a lone cloud floated
in the Montana sky.
“Pull over,” Hensley said. His gun was pointed at her. He stared at her. His eyes were wide, as if he’d woken up to something. This time there was no need to interpret his actions. “Get out of the car.” His voice was even, no trace of his former drug addled shakiness.
“What is it . . . what’s the matter sweetie . . . ?” Sarah ventured in a soothing voice. She thought he was having another episode, just like back in the hotel, when he grabbed her. Perhaps it was the drugs she was giving him.
“Out of the car god damn it—now!” His eyes were narrow, his face set in a mask of pure hate.
Sarah got out of the car. She did a quick look behind her. There was not another car in sight. The Drone would be overhead, but it was an observation Drone. She had been briefed that it was designed for Border Patrol duty, no missiles, no firepower of any kind. There was just her and this drug-addled kid with a large caliber weapon.
“Okay, Hensley . . . look we need to talk this through . . . you’re a little on edge . . . we have to meet your friends, put these Bio Bugs into a pipeline, and get moving . . .”
Hensley looked at her, he said nothing. He was looking at his cell phone, reading a text. He lifted his head, looked her up and down. “No, there has been a change of plan . . . Sarah Collins.”
Sarah felt a jolt down her spin. How did he know her real name?
Sarah moved slowly towards Hensley, hoping to reason with him, and get the gun. “I don’t know what you’re on about, my name is Rebecca Jones . . . you know who I am, I’m your Becky . . .”
Hensley fired the 357 at her feet. The shot echoed over the flat landscape. “Don’t lie to me, bitch. My people tell me you’re FBI, sent to hang with me, and see if I’ll lead you to them.” He walked closer, his arm with the cell phone extended. “Now . . . I got a little surprise for your people . . . call them.”
Sarah wanted to say call who, but she knew it was useless; her cover was blown. She had a number, a main number for a patch through to Carla Winston, and she dialed it. Winston came on the phone, tentative, as she didn’t recognize the number, “Agent Winston, our suspect wants a meeting.”
Pipeline Killers: Bernadette Callahan. A female detective mystery with international suspense. (Book 2) Page 13