BlackStar Enigma

by T C Miller

  The older agent sat in the driver’s seat and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to a silent tune. “We did, but he isn’t cleared yet.”

  “Why not? I thought he was a hero after he took a bullet for the Director.”

  “Only on the surface. He happened to be in the wrong place at the right time,” Barnes replied. “Hawkins still killed Walter.”

  “Whatever. Sure wish the heater in this piece of junk worked.”

  “You want a comfortable job, transfer to desk duty.”

  “I’d rather freeze to death.”

  McFadden Ranch Cattle Pens North of Medicine Bow, WY.

  “I don’t know how in the world you do it, Doc.” Glenn McFadden, the lanky owner of McFadden Ranch, asked Robert “Doc” Marston. “You make

  breech birthin’ look easy.”

  “Lots of practice, Glenn. ‘Course, being the son of a rancher helps. Lost track of the number of times I helped my daddy pull one out before it died and took its mama with it.”

  “Comes with the job, don’t it? Thanks again, for coming out here. Woulda done it my own self, but these arthritic old hands jist don’t work like they used to.”

  “Least I can do. How long we been neighbors?”

  Glenn thought about it as he rubbed his stubbled chin. “Well, let’s see now, I was in high school when your daddy set up his clinic, and you was still in diapers…”

  Doc laughed. “Okay, I get it…a long time. Listen, Glenn, I’d love to stay and chat about the good old days, but from the looks of the sky, I should head on home.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. Speaking’ of home, how you like living underground?”

  “More than Mary does, although even she’s taken a shine to it. Said she’s glad we didn’t rebuild my dad’s old place after the fire. Doesn’t miss the wind howling outside in the winter.”

  “Shore was sorry to hear about your folks. They ever figure out what happened?”

  “Sheriff said there was a smoldering fire in the couch, and the battery was missing from the smoke alarm.”

  “If they’re like me, they got tired of hearing it beeping and didn’t have another one on hand.” Glenn broke the awkward silence after a minute, “I couldn’t live underground. I like staring out the window.”

  “You get used to living safe and snug under six feet of earth. Camera system I had put in makes it easier.”

  “Cameras?”

  “Had a company from Cheyenne install them in the house and the grove of cottonwoods between our place and my dad’s. Top of the line units with professional zoom lenses you work with a joystick. We can pull it up on any TV in the house and see for hundreds of yards around us. They have night vision. We watched a pack of coyotes chasing down a couple

  of rabbits the other night.”

  “DOSs deserve it,” Glenn replied.

  “Dead On Sight. Haven’t heard that in a while. In fact, my dad was the last one I remember saying it.”

  “Old-timers like me still use it, though the dang-blasted environmentalists pretty much killed it. I remember back in the fifties when it seemed like we found sheep tore up every other day by hungry coyotes. Feds hired professional sharpshooters and trappers, ‘stead of relying on amateur bounty hunters.

  Brought the coyote population down in no time.” “Mary says every critter’s got to eat,” Doc said. “But you tend to look at things a whole different way when your livelihood is at stake.”

  “Personally, I’m happy when coyotes are at least ten miles away. Must be interesting, though, watching it on TV. Sounds all Buck Rogers, or Star Trek. More comfortable with the way it was a hundred years ago.”

  Mary says the same thing. Then, in the next breath, points out how happy she is not beating laundry clean in an old tin washtub, or hauling chunks of dried cow dung for a wood stove like her grandma did. So much easier turning a knob.”

  “True. Speaking of wives, I’d better get my skinny ol’ butt home before I have to face the ol’ evil eye from mine. Good seeing you again, Doc.”

  Doc rolled down his shirt sleeves as he packed up his equipment. “Right back atcha, Glenn. Say, the four of us should get together for supper real soon.”

  “I’ll have Debra set it up with Mary.”

  “Sounds good.” Doc walked toward his white Ford F-350 diesel-powered double-cab dually idling on the other side of a barb-wire fence. He turned the fur collar of his Carhart jacket up against the strong wind and frigid air. It wouldn’t be long before the storm roared down the plains like a hungry animal looking for prey. Huge flakes began sticking to his coat as he reached the truck and slid into the warm interior.

  A quick try at contacting Mary on the CB to tell her he was on the way home failed. He shoved his favorite George Strait cassette into the dash and sang along off-key. “…is just what I got on.”

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Interstate 80, Between Cheyenne And Laramie

  Jake glanced sideways at Joanna as she concentrated on a word-puzzle book. “Must be hard, from the way you’re squinting.” They had worked together for months, and he knew her facial expressions.

  “Puzzle’s a piece of cake. Thoughts bouncing around in my head aren’t.”

  “You worried about this ski trip?”

  “Seriously? All things in life should be so easy.

  No, I have other things on my mind.” Her voice trailed off, and she stared out the side window.

  “Like what?”

  “The usual stuff. Am I doing the job right? When do we get the BlackStar system and nukes back? What happens in the future?”

  “Near or distant?”

  “Both.”

  How can anyone predict the future? Jake thought back to Clark Air Base in the Philippines early in his career guarding a corner of the sprawling base on the midnight shift. The sound of breaking glass led him to the rear of a warehouse where he faced three tough locals from a shantytown across the fence. Two brandished knives and one waved a pistol. They laughed when Jake ordered them to drop their weapons.

  The young bandit with the pistol shouted threats in Tagalog, a language Jake barely understood, and saw Jake’s hesitation as a sign of weakness. The emboldened leader fired.

  The shot whizzed by his ear and jolted Jake into action. He fired twice and caught the intruder in the chest with both rounds.

  Another bandit screamed and rushed at Jake with a knife in an overhand position.

  Jake fired again and the second attacker fell. The third intruder dropped his knife and ran. Jake stopped pursuing him when one of the injured men moaned. He radioed for an ambulance, but both men died before help could arrive.

  After that, Jake wanted more options than a firearm and a nightstick and dedicated his free time to training in a variety of martial disciplines. He studied Muay Thai kick boxing, Kali, and Hakkoryu Jujutsu. Deadly force would be his last resort from then on.

  Jake broke his reverie, scooped up a handful of M&Ms, and checked the rearview mirrors out of habit. “Just getting through day-to-day can be a battle. Although, I’ve been thinking about the same subjects myself, including us.”

  “Where are we’re going?”

  “Hogadon Ski Basin.”

  “Not what I meant, smart guy, and you know it.” She punched his arm again. “Is it my imagination, or are we starting a thing?”

  A sarcastic quip came to mind, but he wisely choked on the words. Instead, he dropped the grin before answering, “If what you mean by ‘a thing’ is what I think it is, the answer is yes, I’m leaning toward being more than teammates. How about you?”

  Joanna stared at her lap and replied in a soft voice, “I try not to get involved with guys at work. Too are just too many complications from immature young men.”

  She picked at a hangnail. “They want to brag to the world and manage what I say and do. I like my privacy, and won’t put up with domineering men.”

  “They’d understand if they knew you at all.”


  Joanna sighed. “But they don’t. You’re so strong, but not overbearing. I can take chances and be my best. You don’t interfere, yet you’re always there when I need you.”

  “It’s what any mentor should do.”

  “And for that, I’m grateful, but where do we go in the long run?”

  Jake stared at the winter landscape. “Someplace together, I hope.”

  “What did you say?” Jake asked after a few minutes of silence.

  “Wasn’t me,” Joanna replied. “Came from the backseat.”

  Jake flipped the rearview mirror down. Licia was mumbling in her sleep. “What’s she saying?”

  Joanna twisted around and leaned back as far as the seat belt would allow. “Can’t make it out, but it sounds like bank account numbers.”

  “Why would she be dreaming about math?”

  Joann shrugged. “College work, maybe?”

  “She’s on a semester break…should be dreaming about skiing or boys… anything but school.”

  “They’re facing a different world than the one we grew up in.”

  “Are we that old?”

  Joanna sighed. “In college-age minds, the late twenties are almost senior citizens.”

  Consortium Headquarters, Leipswig, Switzerland One Month Earlier

  Gunter Wilhelm crossed his legs and sat back in an overstuffed easy chair. It faced an ornate, gold-leaf-covered Louis IV table that should be in a museum. Instead, it was a desk for the leader of the Consortium. The aroma of furniture polish and Italian coffee wafted through the room.

  The Commissioner personally summoned Gunter the day before, “I require your presence here tomorrow,” he said in clipped tones over the encrypted satellite phone. It was a mundane request usually handled by a clerk.

  Gunter took a sip from an antique teacup decorated with a scene from the reign of Czar Nicolas II, the last emperor of Russia. Did the Commissioner acquire it as head of intelligence operations in the old Soviet Union?

  “Concerns of a highly sensitive nature have arisen you must personally address,” the Commissioner began. “The status of our Russian guests at Deer Trail was altered after Rick Eichner died, as it was he who contracted for the stay. ”

  Gunter nodded. “I am monitoring the situation from my Toronto office, and preparing to move to the site in a few weeks, per your orders.”

  “You will go there after this meeting. Staff in

  Toronto can arrange for your possessions to follow.”

  “Today?”

  “Will that inconvenience you?”

  “No, Commissioner, although I must admit, you have caught me unawares. Ironically, I was to discuss the move to Colorado in the morning with my staff….”

  “You may do so by televideo conference from the aircraft.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Upon arrival, you will negotiate a contract with Gregori Yancy. He is overbearing and crude, and I want him away from the underground site as quickly as possible. However, I see no reason to dispute his claim he was Eichner’s partner, since our business often lacks written agreements.

  The Commissioner stared at the ceiling for a moment before continuing, “American agencies search frantically for the stolen nuclear devices and might stumble upon our facility. Yancy’s stay was to be for a few days, and it now appears it may expand into weeks, which means I grow increasingly uneasy.”

  “Will you release the devices to Yancy?”

  “Yes, and I prefer the bombs to be in a site under Yancy’s control in the event American intelligence agencies find him. Our legitimate real estate interests can claim ignorance, and say we simply leased a storage facility to the man.”

  “Where are the alternate locations?” Gunter hoped the Commissioner might confide in him so he could pass the information to his American contacts. They could plant their own surveillance before Yancy took over the site.

  The Commissioner didn’t take the bait. “My chauffeur will give you a sealed dossier upon your arrival in Colorado containing three locations you may offer to Yancy. He and his men will be driven from state to state to conceal both origin and destination. We will tell the transport people it is a classified cargo authorized by the US government, and provide counterfeit documents. They will not dare ask about the contents, nor the identities of the passengers.

  Yancy will, of course, bear the cost of the transfer.”

  “And if he objects?”

  “He will understand the cost to ensure his security, and consider it reasonable.”

  The Commissioner opened a folder and referred to a computer printout. “Two hundred thousand US dollars will cover the move. The lease is one-hundred fifty-thousand a month for whichever facility he chooses. It does not include provisions, but he may

  order from our food service people.”

  “Terms of payment?”

  “Six months in advance. Yancy will transmit the money through anonymous overseas accounts which cannot be traced. I do not anticipate you will encounter difficulties with him.”

  The Commissioner pressed a button and spoke, “Hilda, please send in my first appointment, and tell Peter to take Mister Wilhelm to the airstrip.”

  He turned his attention to the paperwork on his desk after a quick glance at Gunter. “That concludes our business.”

  Gunter closed the door quietly as he left.

  Interstate 80, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming

  “Weather looks like Siberia,” Sasha Kuzmich said in

  Russian. “I hate Siberia.”

  “Everybody hates Siberia,” Pyotr Andreyev replied.

  “Why are we not in warm place?”

  “We obey orders from bocc.”

  “So, we continue to live, yes?”

  “You are smarter than you first appear…” “I am glad you say so.” Pyotr rolled his eyes.

  Sasha continued, “I do not understand why four people are of such great interest to Yancy.”

  “Is no concern to us. We follow orders.…”

  A tone from the two-way radio alerted them to an incoming call. “Base to Survey One,” said a hollow voice with a Slavic accent distorted by encryption.

  Sasha grabbed the microphone. “Survey One,” he replied, also in heavily accented English.”

  “What is your location?”

  “Mile marker 342 on Interstate 80, heading west with target vehicle in sight.”

  “Good, diversion plan was success. Other teams will intercept targets north of Medicine Bow on Highway 487. Sniper disables vehicle and Assault Team Two kills adult guards. They deliver packages to you for transport. Stay two hundred meters away from target, understood?”

  “Understood, over.” Sasha returned the mike to its holder. “He thinks we are imbeciles.”

  Pyotr chuckled. “No, he thinks you are imbecile.”

  Office of the Director, NSA

  “I cannot access the safe for classified information, Director,” Justin said. He struggled to conceal his dismay.

  “I had the combination changed,” John Banner said without looking up from a dossier he was reviewing.

  A desk lamp cast a yellow pool of light on the green blotter. It was the only source of illumination in the spacious office.

  “How shall I secure classified documents?”

  “Leave it on my desk.” Banner’s tone left no room for discussion.

  Justin laid the red folder marked “TOP SECRET-NORFORN” in an inbox and returned to his desk in the outer office. Justin was excluded from some classified operations but usually allowed access to the Director’s private office safe, which meant an occasional peek into other files.

  Justin’s clandestine work for the Consortium required him to piece together bits and pieces of information about agency operations. He needed to find a way to view files in the safe.

  John Banner leaned out the doorway to the inner sanctum ten minutes later. “I don’t want to be disturbed unless it’s the President.”

  “Yes, sir.”


  Banner closed the door, and three electrically operated dead bolts slid into place with a distinctive clunk. Only an explosive charge could breach the armor-plated door. A light on the secure telephone system meant the new director was making an encrypted, classified call.

  Justin removed a device the size of a personal recorder from his desk and attached a microphone to the wall behind him with a suction cup. The sensitive listening device was cleverly disguised as an audio player, and a casual observer would assume he was listening to music.

  A press of the power button produced a piercing squeal in the headphones and gave him an instant headache. He ripped the headset off and threw it on the desk. Nothing like this had ever happened. The device must have developed a flaw, or Banner suspected clandestine activity and was now using an electronic shield to mask his conversations.

  The click of the electromagnet lock on the director’s office door startled Justin. He stuffed the listening device and headset into a desk drawer.

  “Yes, Director, do you require my assistance?”

  “Did a courier deliver a package?”

  “Yes, and I secured it in a locked cabinet.”

  “Bring it in, please.”

  Justin placed the courier envelope on the Director’s desk. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Yes, do you have the file regarding security breaches?”

  “No, sir, I do not.”

  “I’ve turned my office upside down trying to find it. I assumed it was in my safe, but no luck. I thought you might have it.”

  “You are describing an unlikely scenario, Director. I have classified files only while I work with them. Your office safe is the authorized records repository for classified material.”

  “I see. For your information, your lack of access to the safe is only until an urgent matter is resolved.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Justin returned to his desk and reviewed recent events. Was he the subject of an internal security investigation? He popped a lozenge in his mouth, leaned back in the ergonomic chair, and closed his eyes to compose himself. The phone rang, and he answered in a flat mechanical voice, “Office of the Director, how may I assist you?”