by T C Miller
Logic told her Yancy would keep her alive only if it were to his benefit. Ransom was a remote possibility with the government’s policy of not trading for hostages. There must be other reasons.
Joanna finished another examination of her prison and sat on the floor with her back against the wall to avoid the smelly mattress. She picked at a hangnail on her ring finger and imagined an engagement ring on it.
Maybe it was time to plan a wedding and honeymoon. It might never happen, but it would occupy her mind. Anything was better than thinking of the ordeal she was in.
Oddly enough, she didn’t feel like crying. She had faith in Jake and their team. They would rescue her. She hoped it would be soon.
Mini-Warehouse, Elmhurst, Illinois
Yancy watched as Nestor pulled the box van into the mini-warehouse. He punched a button to close the motorized overhead door.
Nestor was a twenty-six year old with no goals, little ambition, and a skill set learned in the underbelly of society when Yancy hired him to work in the Seawind Bay operation.
The young man adapted quickly to the change from the noisy bars and raucous dives in San Francisco to the tranquil routine of a coastal fishing village. He found a few friends, but did not fit well into the closed local community. Nestor longed for a relationship with a woman, but never found it.
The smuggling operation was raided seven months later, and Yancy fled with two dozen of his operatives, including Nestor. Life on the run the past few months was a routine of sporadic sleep, poor food and constantly looking over their shoulders.
“Two offices are in back,” Yancy yelled in a booming voice. “Take second one.”
Nestor grabbed his backpack and gear bag out of the truck, put them in the office and collapsed on a sagging couch. It had numerous stains and smelled like a musty mouse nest. He closed his eyes anyway for a quick nap.
He awoke to find Yancy standing over him with a pistol.
“Sorry, my young friend, you have seen too much,” Yancy said in a quiet voice. He shrugged as he fired two rounds into Nestor’s face.
Rural Virginia Property
The heavy chair bounced off a wall and shattered the glass-top side table below.
“Why can’t I find competent people?” Jack Morgan yelled.
“Wild Bill” Johnson, a middle-aged man, and former strip-club bouncer looked over the newspaper he was reading and shrugged his shoulders. He was accustomed to regular outbursts from Morgan.
“Don’t know, Boss.”
“Of course, you don’t, it’s a rhetorical question.
You weren’t supposed to know.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“I pay more than anybody in the business, so I don’t understand why these idiots keep screwing up. They should get it right the first time, or at least the second.”
Morgan stood still, and his breathing slowed to a normal rate. He stared blankly out the window at a placid lake containing a dozen bodies of people who double-crossed him.
“Drug cartels pay more,” the hapless man mumbled.
“It’s a different business, you moron.”
“Sorry, Boss, just trying to make you feel better.” He cringed when Morgan moved around the table.
“What? Did you think I was going to hit you? I only slap the younger guys around now and then to get their attention, not you.”
“Sure, Boss, I ain’t worried.” Bill crossed his arms on his ample midsection, leaned back in the chair and patiently waited. Listening to the ravings of his erratic boss was in his job description.
Morgan continued, “This BlackStar Ops Group has got to go, no two ways about it. They’ve broken up way too many of my operations and cost me a small fortune. I need to come up with a plan and find people who can put them out of business forever.” “Sure, Boss, whatever you say.”
NSA Safe House, Ellicott City, Maryland
Nora Winfield sat beside a hospital bed that was jarringly out of place in the Greek Rival-style home built in the eighteen hundreds.
The town around Morehead Manor was founded in seventeen-seventy-one by three Quaker brothers who wanted to power grinding mills with water from the Tiber and Patapsco rivers. Ocean docks in Baltimore were also conveniently close.
Many of the older homes were converted to bed-and-breakfasts, including Morehead Manor, which was closed to the public by permanent signs on the front porch that read “No Vacancy.” Reservations required approval from the Director of the NSA.
Screens monitoring Bart’s vital signs were dimmed, and sounds were muted. The oppressive smell of antiseptic solutions filled the room.
Two guards stationed outside the door discussed a college basketball game in muted tones. The most notable noise in the room was the gentle whooshing of the ventilator doing Bart’s breathing. His eyes were closed, but he occasionally murmured unintelligible words and phrases.
Nora held Bart’s hand and answered her phone.
“I spoke with Jake Thomas a few minutes ago,” John Banner said in a hollow and distant voice distorted by encryption.
“How did the raid in Chicago go?” Nora asked more out of courtesy than interest. Small talk was about the only form of communication she could tolerate. “Did they find Joanna?”
“No, but I’m impressed by the textbook covert operation Jake conducted. The majority of the bad guys are in custody, and most items were recovered.”
“Who and what’s missing?”
“Can’t say, even on a secure line, but we’ll talk later. Besides, you need to concentrate on staying healthy and being there for Bart.”
“Doctors say the coma could be a long-term thing, as in weeks, or even months. The walls are starting to close in on me, and I’m not sure how long I can stay here full time. I need to continue the work I was doing at the agency.”
“Okay, but don’t rush it. Stay there as long as you like. When you decide to come back, we can put you on a flexible schedule. You can even work from home if you’re more comfortable.”
“Thanks, but the condo isn’t home…too sterile for my tastes. I may move the bus here from Wyoming.”
“I can arrange for you to park it right next to the building. Do whatever you feel comfortable with.”
Banner realized there was nothing more he could say under the circumstances and said a quiet good bye.
Nora watched Bart restlessly sleeping. Bone-deep fatigue overtook her like a dark wave. She kissed his hand, laid her head on his arm, and nodded off.
Suburban Chicago Area Hotel
Jake Thomas closed the folder and tried to rub weariness from his eyes. A desk lamp was the sole source of light in the nondescript hotel room.
He spoke softly into the recording device and stumbled over the first words, “I’ll return to FE Warren in the morning and continue the search for the stolen nukes. We’ll interrogate Yancy’s men some more to try to uncover any additional details about his plans.”
Jake hit the pause button, sighed, and settled back in the cheap rolling office chair.
Fresh ideas were needed to predict the Russian smuggler’s next move. He strained to focus on new approaches for solving the problem, but nothing came to mind. No brilliant flashes of insight or divine inspiration popped up. His eyes welled up with tears, and he wiped them away.
He cleared his throat before continuing, “Agent Davies was, in all probability, kidnapped by Yancy or his men. However, a thorough search of the warehouse in Chicago failed to locate her. Yancy may have taken her with him to use as a bargaining chip.”
Jake had never had a personal relationship with the subject of a mission. He paused and carefully chose his words, “We’ll go over the evidence again with a microscope. I will find Joanna, I mean Agent Davies, whatever it takes.”
He switched off the device. Harsh light from the desk lamp reflected in a wall mirror and showed his anguished expression. Jake whispered a solemn vow, “Nothing will stop me until she’s back in my arms.”
An
ger swelled up from deep inside him. He swatted the bag of candy on the desk, and dozens of yellow, brown, red, and green M&Ms hit the wall and scattered across the carpet. Jake pounded the desk with both fists. “I will find you, and when I do, I’ll tear the men who took you to pieces with my bare hands. I’m coming for you.”
****
Glossary
Alert PadFacility on USAF bases where aircraft are parked for immediate response missions.
ABG Air Base Group
APBAll Points Bulletin.
APUAuxillary Power Unit-Electrical generator that supplies power when the aircraft engines are not running.
BDUsBattle Dress Uniform-Sometimes referred to as fatigues. In 1988, they were the Woodland Camoflage Pattern, which consists of varying shades of green and black in a random pattern for concealment in forests.
BlackStarAnti-terrorist device carried on all US aircraft and vessels that carry nuclear weapons.
BSOGBlackStar Operations Group - Strike Force within the NSA that protects the BlackStar system.
BUFF Big Ugly Freakin’ Fellow-Nickname for B-52
DEADrug Enforcement Agency
HVACHeating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning IMA Individual Mobilization Augmentee, Air
Force Reserve Program for one day-a-month service with active duty units.
NSANational Security Agency - Conducts electrotronic surveillance programs and cryptologic support for US government agencies.
NSCNational Security Council - Advises the Presi- dent and Congress.
NRONational Reconnaissance Office - Responsible
for surveillance satellite operation and data analysis.
NESTNuclear Emergency Security Team-response
units that recover nuclear materials after an incident and clean up radioactive material. ORI Operational Readiness Inspection
Para Cord Parachute cord.
POTUSPresident of the United States POVPrivately owned vehicle.
SAC Strategic Air Command
SAC/CC Commander, SAC
SORTSpecial Operations Response Team
SPSSecurity Police Squadron
SRTSpecial Response Team
SuppressorMechanical device used to reduce the sound of muzzle blast from a weapon. Sometimes
referred to as a can, it is usually a machined piece attached to the barrel. Often referred to erroneously as a “silencer.”
Russian Terms
DaYes
NyetNo
BoccBoss
Na ZdorovieCeremonial Toast
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