Kitty Hawk

by Roland Smith

  “Providing the rogue Mossad agent survives the blast,” Eben said.

  “Best be careful,” Boone said.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Felix pulled into the hospital parking lot wishing he could climb inside the coach and go to sleep for about three and a half days. He also wished there were some clothes inside that weren’t singed and torn that would fit him. But he knew fresh clothes and a long sleep were not on the agenda.

  At least I’ll be able to get something to eat.

  Then he remembered that Roger and Blaze were vegetarians and there wasn’t anything inside that he would want to put into his mouth. His only hope was that Q had a secret cache of eatable food he could raid. He would have gotten something at the Cracker Barrel, but thought better of it when he saw his reflection in the window of the restaurant. He looked like a grizzly bear that had been caught in a terrible forest fire, or a very large man who had fallen on a live grenade and somehow survived. He felt it would be best if he stayed out of sight until he got himself cleaned up. He had found a pink cell phone in an old Ford Taurus with plenty of battery left. He didn’t mind the color, but the constant buzzing of incoming calls was annoying. Whoever owned it was popular, or else they were calling their own phone trying to find out where it was. He’d thought about heisting the Taurus, but it didn’t look roadworthy. Instead he decided on the Benz, but not before switching license plates with the Taurus to confuse the cops.

  He parked next to the coach and got out. The weather had improved. It was still raining, but not nearly as hard as it had been. The wind had died down to about fifteen miles an hour. He stretched. His whole body felt brittle as if it might shatter if he fell down or bumped into something. He would have liked to get right into the coach and take off, but Boone wanted him to find out what had happened to Q’s dad.

  Out of sight, out of mind and good riddance to him, Felix thought. What’s he doing down here anyway?

  But Felix knew Boone wouldn’t have asked him to check unless he thought it was important, so he trudged across the wet parking lot to the entrance and walked inside. The woman behind the desk looked surprised. Then alarmed, as Felix got closer.

  “May I help you?” she asked nervously.

  Felix looked at the name tag on her scrubs. Her name was Betty.

  “I’m looking for Speed Paulsen.”

  She gave him a fake smile and checked her computer terminal. “I’m afraid we don’t have a Paulsen as a patient here.”

  “He’s not a patient. He was visiting.”

  Two uniformed security men hurried around the corner.

  Felix glanced at them. They split up and flanked him. One to the right, one to the left.

  Here we go.

  “We don’t give out information about our visitors, or our patients,” Betty said.

  The security guards moved in on him. Felix reached into his tattered coat and pulled out his wallet and flipped it open.

  “Federal agent,” he said. “Stand down.”

  The security guards stopped in their tracks. The one on his right looked at his creds. Felix moved the badge so Betty could read it. The badge read: “Special Agent Felix Park, Homeland Security.” If they were to call in to check the creds, they would find that Felix Park was an active agent of the federal government currently assigned to Homeland Security, compliments of the magic-hacking fingers of Raymond Brock. Felix also had creds for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, National Security Agency, Department of Defense, and the Central Intelligence Agency. The SOS team all carried a pocketful of creds.

  “What in the world would Homeland Security want with Speed Paulsen?” Betty asked.

  “We don’t give out information about our fugitives, or perpetrators.”

  Felix was beginning to enjoy himself now, a little. “Where is he?”

  “He was here, but he left,” Betty said. “It was a little confusing, really. He came in with his son, then his son disappeared, then he asked about some patients that were in a truck accident, but we didn’t have any record of them ever being here. Then his car wouldn’t start.”

  “We managed to get it going,” one of the security guards said. The name on his badge was Ralph. “Then he took off. Said he was heading down to the Florida Keys.”

  “What about his alleged son?”

  “I don’t know what all that was about,” Betty answered. “He was concerned when we couldn’t find him, but he seemed to forget the whole thing after a while. He couldn’t have been nicer. He signed autographs and talked to everyone.”

  “Weird night,” Ralph said. “While we were trying to get Speed’s car started, one of the doctors discovered that his car had been stolen.”

  “Thanks for the information.”

  “What happened to you?” Ralph asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your clothes. You look like you’ve been beat up.”

  “You look like you were set on fire,” the other guard said.

  “That’s classified.”

  Felix walked out of the hospital and back to the coach. He fumbled around in the wheel well for the magnetic lockbox with the spare key. It wasn’t exactly where Boone said it would be, but he finally found it.

  He stepped inside the coach and fired up the diesel engine. While it was warming up, he checked out Q’s bunk for food and was rewarded with a half a bag of stale potato chips and a candy bar with a bite out of it.

  Better than nothing.

  The candy bar was gone by the time he got back to the driver’s seat. He buckled in, put the chip bag between his legs, and booted up the dashboard computer. Boone and Masters were almost to the town of Manteo on Roanoke Island. The intellimobile was a couple of hundred miles away, heading south on I-85 toward Atlanta. Ziv and Eben were getting ready to set a car bomb off. He was glad he wasn’t with them. He’d had enough of car bombs for one day.

  Boom

  Eben stood at the back of the Tahoe with a flashlight in one hand and a cell phone in the other. Ziv was standing next to him, holding a screwdriver and a pair of wire cutters. Everyone was listening in, but X-Ray was the only one giving instructions. Ziv had just gently peeled back the carpet in the cargo area. Beneath it were several pounds of C-4 plastic explosives. Dozens of stainless steel balls had been embedded into the soft plastic to increase the damage. There was a digital timer clicking off the minutes, one second at a time. It was set to go off in a little less than three hours.

  “You sure it takes both of us?” Eben asked.

  “Yeah,” X-Ray said. “One to hold the camera phone so I can see what you’re doing, and one to disarm the bomb.”

  “I hate bombs,” Eben said.

  “It’s a lot of explosive for a little memorial,” X-Ray said, ignoring him. “This might have been their secondary target.”

  “Can we just get this over with,” Ziv said impatiently.

  “Sure,” X-Ray said. “Cut the blue wire.”

  “Just like that?” Ziv said.

  “Snip,” X-Ray said. “But cut it up toward the lead because you’re going to need to reattach it. You’ll need some slack to reach.”

  “Why don’t I just disconnect it from the lead?” Ziv asked.

  “Because the bomb would explode,” X-Ray said.

  Ziv pointed to what he thought was the blue wire.

  Eben leaned down with the flashlight for a closer look. “Blue.”

  Ziv cut it. Both men closed their eyes as if this would help if the Tahoe exploded. It didn’t explode.

  “Show me the timer again.”

  Eben pointed the camera phone at the timer. The numbers had stopped.

  “Perfect,” X-Ray said. “Now detach the green wire. Don’t cut it. Just pull it away from the contact. Gently.”

  “So this one we don’t cut,” Ziv said.

  “Weird, isn’t it? Detonators all have their little quirks. You cut this one and the bomb goes boom.”

  Ziv pulled the wire off the lead. Gently.


  “Set the countdown timer for five minutes.”

  “Five minutes!” Eben said.

  “Any longer and a jogger or someone might show up. You heard Boone. He doesn’t want any collateral damage. Five minutes should give you plenty of time to get out of the blast radius.”

  “Our vehicle is two hundred feet away in the parking lot,” Ziv said.

  “You’ll have to run.”

  Ziv looked at Eben. “Make sure you have your keys out, ready to go.”

  Eben nodded. “I hope the car starts.”

  Ziv set the timer for five minutes.

  “Okay,” X-Ray said. “Hook the green wire up again. Gently.”

  Ziv reattached the green wire to the lead.

  “Now the blue wire. You’ll have to expose the end and hook it to the lead as best as you can, but make sure it’s secure. If it pops off. Boom.”

  Ziv took out a small knife and exposed the copper on the wire.

  “This is the tricky part. The timer is going to start the moment it touches the lead. And remember to make sure you don’t lose contact or—”

  “We know,” Ziv said. “Boom.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ziv looked at Eben. Sweat ran down both of their faces. “Ready?”

  “Do it,” Eben said.

  Ziv wrapped the wire around the contact.

  04:59 … 04:58 … 04:57…

  “Run!” Ziv shouted.

  Eben was the first to reach the Range Rover.

  04:23…

  He jumped in and started the engine.

  04:19 …

  Ziv dove into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

  04:13…

  Eben put the Rover into gear but kept his foot on the brake. “Do you see anyone coming?”

  They looked up and down the road for headlights and people.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Ziv said.

  04:01…

  “Shall we go?” Ziv said. “There is a leopard waiting for us down south.”

  Eben stepped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot. He decided that if he saw an approaching car, he would swerve into it to stop it. There was nothing he could do if a car came up behind him.

  Ziv stared down at his watch. “Two minutes give or take a few seconds.”

  Eben rounded a curve, relieved to see no oncoming cars and hoping none were coming up behind them.

  “Forty-five seconds.”

  They were two point five miles away when they heard the boom.

  Bridges

  “Listen,” Malak said.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Bethany said.

  “The clicking sound. Every four seconds or so. Here it comes.”

  Click …

  “What is it?”

  “The tires running over something across the road at regular intervals. I think we’re on a bridge. A long bridge. We must be going over a body of water. I don’t know this part of the country very well.”

  “Lucky for us I do,” Bethany said. “I virtually lived on buses through two long presidential campaigns. You think we turned west of I-95?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Two hours.”

  “Then we’re on Highway 64. We’re crossing the bridge to Roanoke Island. If we cross another bridge after this, we’ll be on the Outer Banks.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as a blind person can be about where they are. But I can’t think of any other long bridges in this part of the country.”

  “Blind person,” Malak said. “Brilliant.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bethany asked.

  “I’m going to find out what else they have in this truck. I’ll have to do it by feel.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “No. You need to stay where you are. You’re supposed to be unconscious. We can’t risk them stopping and finding you out of place. I’ll be back.”

  Bethany laughed. “Where else are you going to go?”

  “Good point.”

  Ten feet from the back doors was a heavy curtain of plastic suspended from the ceiling hanging all the way to the floor. Malak had noticed it when they got into the truck, but had thought nothing of it. She’d assumed it was there to keep the cool air from escaping when the doors were opened. She had also assumed that the truck was empty. That she and Bethany were the only cargo. She crawled under the plastic and discovered that she was wrong. The curtain was concealing something quite large. But what?

  She crawled along the right side of the trailer trying to make sense of what it was by nothing more than touch. The bottom part was made out of square metal tubing. It felt like a frame of some kind. It was strapped down with webbed cinch straps as tight as bowstrings. She crawled farther along and came across a different texture. It was rubbery, pliant. Beneath the rubber she felt metal again, with small protuberances sticking out from it.

  Lug nuts. It’s a tire.

  She felt farther along and came to another tire.

  It’s not a car. The tires are too close together.

  The truck slowed. She braced herself and listened. The clicking had stopped. She stood and put her hands out. She felt something smooth, almost slick. It wasn’t metal.

  What is this thing?

  She stretched her hands above her head, following the smooth surface upward until she felt an edge sticking out a foot or so above her head. It was rougher than the other surface. It was rounded on the side and flat on the top. It felt like wood. And suddenly she knew what she was touching.

  A gunwale. This is a boat. A good-sized boat.

  The truck was moving steadily, but it had definitely slowed. Now that she knew what it was she debated going back and joining Bethany, but thought better of it. The best way to defend yourself against the cell was to know things about them they didn’t think you knew. They wouldn’t be hauling a boat unless they planned to use it. She hooked her fingers over the gunwale and pulled herself up, wishing she had paid better attention to all the boats she’d been in during her life. It was on a trailer so the bow had to be pointing toward the doors.

  Maybe.

  She hadn’t followed the boat for its entire length. There was a chance they had pulled it straight into the trailer and the vehicle was still attached. One thing was certain, it was too big to have been pushed, or pulled, into the trailer by hand. She crawled to her right until she bumped into what felt like steps. There were four of them. They led to a door. She fumbled for the handle, opened it, stood, and stepped through. She felt the wheel. To the right of the wheel were several knobs and levers and …

  A key.

  She turned it one notch. Instrument lights came on, dimly, but enough for her to see her surroundings. There was a flashlight bolted to the wall. She grabbed it and turned it on. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for. She started opening cupboards, then she heard the clicking again.

  Click … click… click …

  They were passing over the second bridge.

  Poof!

  “Drop back,” Boone said. “Get a visual on the truck to confirm, then pull in several cars behind us. That way we can hopscotch with the truck down the road.”

  “Roger that,” John said.

  We had just crossed Roanoke Island, bypassing Manteo, and were rolling onto the Washington Baum bridge toward the Outer Banks. The truck was several car lengths ahead of us, but it was easy to see in the distance because it was the only truck on the road.

  A couple minutes later John called back. “Maryland Fish Company,” he said. “Big red crab on the side. The Tahoe and the truck are heading north on 158.”

  Boone’s cell buzzed the second he ended the call with John. It was the president.

  “Just got word of a car bomb obliterating the Cole Memorial,” J.R. said. “You know anything about that?”

  “Yep,” Boone said, then explained why he had allowed the car bomb to go off.

  “
It was a good decision. They’re reporting no casualties. The same can’t be said for another explosion on I-95. They’re telling me there were at least two fatalities.”

  “When they finally pick up all the pieces, they’re going to find out there were four fatalities. They were all bad guys.”

  “Any more car bombs?”

  “Probably, but we’re on them.”

  “And my daughter?”

  “She’s right in front of us.”

  “Any idea when I can have her back?”

  “I can have her free in five minutes if that’s what you want,” Boone said. “She’s your daughter. It’s totally up to you.”

  He didn’t mention that we had lost Bethany for several hours during the night.

  “You think she’s safe?” the president said.

  “No, I don’t,” Boone said. “None of us is safe as long as the ghost cell is operational. But I do think Malak will do everything she can to protect her.”

  After a long pause, J.R. said, “I moved the SEAL team to Norfolk.”

  “I thought you might,” Boone said.

  “The weather’s flyable. They can be where you are in less than an hour.”

  “We might need them yet. I’ll let you know.”

  Boone ended the call.

  John came back on again. “I’m behind you. Maybe twenty cars back. What’s with all this traffic?”

  He was right. There were a lot of cars and they were barely moving. The road was flat and straight and stretched for miles. There were cars for as far as we could see. Red and blue emergency lights flashed in the distance. The traffic came to a complete stop.

  “This is going to make them nervous,” Boone said.

  “Is it a roadblock?” Angela asked.

  “Don’t think so,” Boone said. “If it was a roadblock, we’d have oncoming traffic. They’d be letting cars through after checking them. It must be an accident or maybe a road problem.”