BlackStar Enigma

by T C Miller

  “So, in effect, you are your own first responders?” Doc smiled. “I suppose you could put it that way. Mom and Dad taught me to plan for worst-case scenarios like they did. I felt better going off to veterinary college in Cheyenne because of the precautions they took. Making it home on the weekends was hard with the gas shortages back then, but a couple of ranch hands took care of the place, and the security steps my parents took eased my mind. Speaking of which, here’s the entrance to the cave.”

  “Where? I see solid boulders and a little scrub, and that’s about it.”

  “Which is all you’re supposed to see. Here, help me open this.”

  Doc dug around in snow-covered pine needles until he located a softball-sized ring and pulled. The needles slid off a steel door he propped up with an attached rod. Warm, stale air billowed out. “The door is made to be opened from below since it would be used to escape from the house, not get into it.”

  Licia peered into the dark opening, and stone steps came into view as her eyes adjusted. “Smells dry, not damp and musty like I thought it would. And I thought we’d be walking into the cave at ground level, not going down.”

  Doc grinned. “Clever, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I would have passed over it a dozen times without seeing it. Pure genius.”

  “Thank you. Now, let’s get out of sight. We’ll have to help Star down the steps and around a corner.”

  “Come on, Star, let’s go,” Licia implored her dazed friend. She took Star’s arm to guide her and turned to Doc. “How are we going to spread sand and needles on the door from the inside?”

  “We’re not. Snow will cover it in no time, and the door locks from the inside. I also have booby traps set

  up to slow down anybody who breaks in.”

  “You are one clever vet.”

  “Doing what my parents taught me to survive.”

  Doc flipped a light switch, and concrete steps came into view.

  “Looks like it dead ends down there,” Licia said, as she peered over his shoulder.”

  “That’s what we were going for. Mary says you should act like a bunny when you’re being chased by hunkering down and staying very still. Same principle applies here. Most people would see an empty root cellar. You and Star go on down. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Licia supported Star as they gingerly followed the steps down.

  Doc closed the door and caught up with the girls after setting trip wires across the steps in two places.

  The booby traps were connected to M80 fireworks and bottle rockets to deafen and temporarily blind unwanted visitors.

  The young women stood at the bottom of the steps shaking off the cold. “Feels good being out of the wind, and a lot warmer down here,” Licia said.

  “Fifty-five degrees year round when you’re underground. Our home is the same way.”

  Licia pushed against what appeared to be a concrete-block wall.

  “Here, let me do that.” Doc reached overhead to a light fixture and pushed a hidden button on the side. The metallic sound of an electric lock echoed off the concrete, and a four-foot section of the wall moved inward. A lined tunnel tall enough to stand in appeared on the other side.

  “Another idea from Mary?”

  “No, this one was mine. I watched a lot of haunted-house movies when I was young. They always had hidden passageways and cubbyholes to hide in.”

  “Not bad. I like it.”

  “Good. Now, let’s move down toward the house.”

  “Down?”

  “Remember, we came up to get to the cave. The house is downslope. It’s gradual at first, but increases as we get near the house. There’s another hidden door at the other end leading into our laundry room. I had monitors installed on this side so we can check out what’s going on in the house.”

  “Instead of charging in? Good thinking. Star, will you be okay?”

  “My ankle hurts, but I’m keeping up, thanks to you. How much further is it?”

  “Another hundred and fifty feet, or so,” Doc answered.

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  Runway Ranch AIRPORT, (CODE: 2MO9) Near Kansas City

  Bill Miller, the helicopter pilot, glanced down at the dirt strip below. “Here we are, Mister Wilhelm.”

  Gunter looked up from the initial inventory reports of the underground missile site. “Sorry, I was preoccupied. Please repeat what you said.”

  “The heliport you told me to fly to was Runway Ranch Airport, right?”

  “Yes, according to the instructions I received. Is there a problem?”

  “No, we’re there.”

  Gunter surveyed the scene below with skepticism, “Not much to look at but a couple of hangars, a gas pump, and an office shed. I don’t see a place to hold a meeting, and there are no vehicles. Are you sure this is correct?”

  “I’ll double-check the coordinates, but I’m sure this is it. Anyway, I need to refuel, and the guidebook says they have pay at the pump.”

  Gunter removed a satellite phone from its case and turned it on. “I’ll contact my people while you’re refueling. I don’t like the look of this.”

  Hildehonda DeWitt, the Commissioner’s private secretary, answered the phone in Dutch-accented German. “He is in a private meeting. Unless it is an….”

  “I do not wish to intrude,” Gunter replied in polite German. “But I face a curious situation. I arrived at the designated airport for the meeting today, and no one is here.”

  “Meeting? There is none on the schedule in your area.”

  “I received an encoded message informing me of a special meeting today near Kansas City.” Dread surged through Gunter as he shuffled the papers in his briefcase. “I have it in my hands.”

  “Provide me with the document transmittal code.”

  Gunter complied and went over events of the past twenty-four hours while he waited.

  “There has been a mistake,” the annoyed secretary replied. “The beginning characters of the transmittal code indicate it originated in this office. However, I have no record of this document, or any other relating to a meeting.”

  Gunter was trying to determine what to do next when he heard the voice of the Commissioner entering Hildehonda’s office.

  “Get Gunter Wilhelm on the phone, immediately,” the Commissioner bellowed.

  “It so happens I am speaking with him now, Herr Commissioner.”

  Bill Miller talked on the radio headset while he brought the helicopter in for a landing near the fuel dock below, “What? Say again, please.” He stopped the descent and hovered thirty feet above the concrete fuel pad.

  “Please be quiet,” Gunter hissed. “I am on a very important call.”

  The pilot replied with an annoyed look and a dismissive wave. He listened for a moment and turned to Gunter. “Looks like there’s been a disaster near our departure point.”

  “Deer Trail? Are you sure? What are the details, man?”

  The stunned pilot’s look conveyed shock and a little fear. “Very few. Lot of radio chatter about a possible nuclear explosion.”

  “Nuclear explosion? Find out more, but set this thing down first.”

  Miller shrugged his shoulders and deftly landed on the fuel pad.

  The Commissioner wasted no time with formalities. “We have reports of a thermonuclear incident at your location. Tell me what is happening.”

  “I…uh, have no idea, Commissioner. I am not at the facility.”

  “Why not? I sent you there to get the situation under control.”

  “I was tricked into going to a nonexistent meeting in Kansas City, a ruse for which I fell.”

  “Kansas City? Ruse? Talk sense, man.”

  Gunter heard Hildehonda whispering to the Commissioner.

  The head of the Consortium was calmer when he resumed the conversation, “It appears you have been lured away from the complex, unless, of course, you intended to absent yourself during the event.”

  Gunter stutt
ered from indignation. “Sir, I had no prior knowledge. I simply followed instructions….”

  “A false summons, it would appear.”

  “I have the document in hand. It is also on the computer at my….” Gunter paused when he realized the e-mail server was probably vaporized in the blast. “I also have a copy on the laptop I am using.”

  “The information may prove useful in tracking down the culprit who lured you away and was responsible for the explosion.” The Commissioner seemed to be thinking aloud as much as talking with Gunter. “Are you positive you are on an aircraft chartered by us?”

  “Why would it not…” Gunter stopped when he realized the pilot was pointing a pistol at him through the window.

  Miller zip-tied Gunter Wilhelm’s hands to the bottom seat rail of the helicopter and started a preflight checklist.

  “Who do you work for?”

  The pilot didn’t look up from the clipboard.

  “I’ll double whatever they’re paying you.”

  Miller glanced up. “They? It’s only one guy.

  Besides, money’s no good to a dead man.”

  “My people can protect you.”

  “Not from the man who hired me, and especially if they’re dead.”

  Gunter ran through a mental list of possible employers. “You don’t seem to understand how powerful my organization is. One word and your boss gets wiped off the face of the earth.”

  “Okay, then ask yourself why it was so easy to trick you into going with me? It took technical expertise and big bucks, which tells me he has serious backing. It also tells me Morgan is not some fly-by-night, half-baked amateur.”

  “Jack Morgan, the disgraced DEA agent? He was a washed-up has-been before he died.”

  “Which either didn’t happen, or he had an identical twin. The hundred grand in my offshore account is real enough.”

  “Only if you live to spend it.”

  “Do I look worried? I deliver you, and I’m off to a beach in Aruba sucking down an endless stream of

  Pina Coladas with bronze-skinned island beauties.”

  “You won’t even consider another offer?”

  “Afraid not. I’m moving on as soon as I turn you over to Morgan.”

  “When do you expect that to occur?”

  “Any minute.”

  As if on cue, two black SUVs with privacy-tint windows pulled up on each side of the helicopter and four men exited with guns drawn.

  A fifth man got out of the backseat and strolled up to the passenger door of the helicopter. He opened it and smiled. “Well, Gunter, I see Miller followed my instructions.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage.” Gunter tugged at the zip-ties.

  “I’m Jack Morgan. I wanted to have a little chat with you and figured this was the easiest way. Couldn’t exactly make an appointment, now could I?”

  “No, and now that you have me as a captive audience, what do you want?”

  “Not in front of him.” Morgan turned to the pilot. “I’m taking him with me while you fly to St. Louis. Leave the bird in the hangar and use the ticket to Aruba. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Morgan motioned to one of his men standing next to an engine access door. “Blindfold Gunter and put him in the car. Johnson, follow me to the farmhouse.”

  “Right behind you, Boss.”

  The helicopter took off as the SUVs left in a cloud of dust.

  Executive Suite, NSA Headquarters

  “I’m afraid there has been a mistake,” Marge said to John, a middle-aged man dressed in the same type of uniform Randy wore. “One of your technicians is already working on the air conditioning system, so why would your company send another man?”

  “I got no idea, ma’am. My office sent me here ‘cause they got a silent alarm saying our equipment is being tampered with. I happened to be in the building next door, so they told me to see who’s messing with our stuff. I’m telling you right now, there’ll be hell to pay if those idiots from the phone company are at it again.”

  “You’re saying Randy is not with your company? He was wearing a uniform identical to yours…”

  “I know everybody in the company, and we got no Randy. Give me the key, and I’ll go clear the alarm.” He frowned and held out his hand.

  Marge was in her twenty-sixth year with the NSA and memorized security protocol early in her career. She picked up the phone and summoned security. Next, she buzzed the Director.

  John Banner burst out of the inner office a minute later with Bart Winfield close behind.

  Each had a determined expression and carried a pistol. They brushed past the startled repairman and ran down the hallway. A mailroom employee flattened himself against a wall to get out of their way.

  “How do you want to do this, Boss?” Bart asked as they ran side-by-side.

  “Not sure. You’re the seasoned field agent, how would you handle it?”

  “Could be a false alarm, so we shouldn’t go in with guns blazing. Be a real PR nightmare if we shot up a legitimate repairman.”

  “Tell me about it. Might be better to wait for security. You know, the old strength in numbers thing.”

  “Except, being a maintenance closet, there won’t

  be a lot of room,” Bart replied. “One or two guys at a time could be the limit.”

  Banner tried to catch his breath as he ran. I should work out more. “You want point, or should I go in first?”

  “Be better if I did. Wouldn’t want to ruin the new Director before the shine’s worn off.”

  Banner slowed down and let his assistant move ahead as they approached the door.

  Bart tried to turn the knob on the utility room door, but it would not budge. “How do we get in through a locked door?”

  John was bent over with his hands on his knee to catch his breath. He grinned and handed Bart a key ring. “One of the perqs of being Director is you get master keys to every room in the building.”

  “And that’s supposed to be a good thing?” Bart asked with a grin. “Anyway, here goes.” Bart inserted a key marked “Utility Master” and turned the lock. It moved halfway around, and the door opened outward on well-oiled hinges.

  Bart held the pistol close to his chest and peered inside. The cover for a chest-high air handler leaned against a wall. Two men with their backs to Bart worked to remove a filter housing and set it on the floor.

  Randy bent over to pull two canisters out of a tool kit and saw Bart in the doorway. He pulled a false bottom up and retrieved a pistol. “Stop right there,” he yelled as he wrapped his fingers around the weapon.

  “Do it and die,” Bart said in a calm voice.

  The other intruder froze in place.

  Randy dropped the pistol and scooped up one of the canisters. He held it in one hand and grasped a valve on top with the other. “Move any closer, and a whole big bunch of people are gonna die.”

  “Whoa there, pard, no need for anybody to get hurt.”

  “I’m not going back to jail and let the gangs get hold of me again. Might as well end it right here.”

  “Calm down and don’t be hasty, son. Give it half a chance, and we can work something out.”

  “Don’t call me son, ‘cause you ain’t my father. I get real tired of you old guys thinking you know me. You don’t know me at all.”

  “Okay, son….sorry, did it again. It’s my Southern upbringing. What’s your name? Are you Randy, like it says on your shirt?”

  “No…I mean, yes. George is my birth name, but that’s my worthless father. So I use my middle name,

  Randy.”

  “Okay, Randy, so tell me, what’s going on here?”

  “What does it look like, old man? I’m doing a job.”

  “Old man, huh? Sort of a turnabout-is-fair-play kind of thing, right? Guess I would seem old to you. By the way, my name is Bart, and this is John. I didn’t catch your partner’s name.”

  “It don’t matter. He’s just here to tell the boss I’
m doing it right.”

  Bart could smell fear from both intruders in the cramped space. He turned to the cowering young man, whose slender frame was visibly shaking. “You got a name?”

  “Fr…Fr…Fran…Kuh.”

  “Did you say, Fran Kuh?”

  “No, I…wa…was tr…trying to say, Fr…Frank. I’m a little nervous, and pointing that gun at me don’t help none.” His eyes went to the Model 19111A1 in Bart’s hand.

  Bart placed the weapon on top of a telephone switch box. “There, is that better? I understand why you’re a little on edge with the situation we’ve got here. Tell me, who hired you to watch Randy?” “N…nuh…not supposed to tell. G…gave me two grand to c…come along and k…k…keep an eye on him.”

  “Like I need you or anybody else to babysit me.”

  “Wh…whatever, d…dude. I…I’m here to do a job, too. I need the b…bread r…real bad.”

  “Then you should have gotten a regular job you could actually do, dude, like cleaning toilets, or asking people if they want fries with that order.”

  Bart turned to John, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the intruders. “Look, fellas, it’s pretty obvious the party’s over. It’s time to de-escalate the situation. So, how about you put the canister down, and we find a nice quiet place to sit and talk?”

  Randy snorted. “And then what, I go to jail for like, the rest of my life?”

  “Could be worse, but, one way or another, this has to end with nobody getting hurt, including y’all.”

  “The problem, old man, is I’m dead whether I go to jail or walk out of here. They can get to me wherever I am. I don’t see no way out of this mess.”

  “I see a bunch of ways. For instance, we move you far away from here with a new identity and a guaranteed income. You could start a new life.”

  “Oh, sure, like they’re gonna listen to some mall cop security guy.”

  “You might be surprised. Besides, if I can’t get it done, he can.” Bart pointed back to Banner. “He’s got friends who are real powerful people.”