by Rex Fuller
Marine Sergeant Michaelson was bone tired. It had been seventeen hours since she came on duty last night. Her name was called just as she was about to leave after an already long day. She and her team were given the job of clearing the Director’s SCIF and his office. Other teams had gone into the main switching facilities. She and her folks wanted to stay and clear the Security offices. But their fingers were getting too tired and rubbery to safely remove more panels and carefully slip CPU boards and other components from the bays. If they could just get through the Security offices they would have to stand down, rest, and come after the unauthorized intercept devices on the duty cycle after next.
She unscrewed the back panel of the computer serving the telecommunications switching functions of the Chief of Security. Before she even placed the panel on the floor she could see the device sitting right in front of her eyes on the chassis.
“Bingo.”
No one responded. She knew she was required to follow the briefed procedure. It was to be photographed and processed before she even touched it.
She raised her voice as loud as she could.
“Bingo! Bingo! Bingo!, Y’all! BINGO! ”
30
Horton knew he had to call the President. He would expect to hear the report of the capture of the Chinese. Horton also knew what the next question would be. It would be better if the whole action team heard it.
He keyed for the White House switchboard to be patched to the speaker.
“White House.”
“Horton, for the President.”
Some of the team members eagerly waited for the next transmissions telling the President of their success. They were the inexperienced.
“How do we stand, Craig?”
“Joint Stars spotted a vehicle near the farm. The Nebraska State Patrol ID’d the two occupants as Chinese and captured them without incident.”
“We haven’t recovered the devices?”
“No, Sir.”
“How are the Pierces?”
“Kathy Pierce is doing normal business at their cafe. Harlan Pierce’s whereabouts, unknown. They are still away from the house.”
“We don’t know where Harlan is?”
“No, Sir.”
“Thanks, Craig. Let me know when we have a better handle on it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The “ping” of the President disconnecting echoed throughout the room. The attitudes of the inexperienced properly adjusted. Horton broke the silence.
“FBI. How are we doing with the maps Sandoval requested?”
“They are being loaded on the helicopter for Sandoval and the HRT right now.”
“How about vehicles for the ground?”
“They’ll be at the site in…eight minutes.”
“When the helicopter takes off from Offutt I want an ETA for the arrival at the site.”
Kelly had taken two more Tylenol and had found a classical station featuring Spanish guitar. Three of her favorites, Montoya playing his Malaga and Segovia playing Albeniz’ Granada and Sevilla, made the trip fly by.
She headed the car into the curb in front of the cafe just at darkness.
“Kelly! Thank goodness you’re here.”
Kathy threaded her way past the customers and hugged her warmly.
“It’s just really good to be here, Kathy.”
“Well, sit down. I just happen to have a catfish ready if you want it.”
“I would kill and die for it.”
“Sit down, sit down, it’ll be right out. Harlan will be back from Lincoln any minute. He’ll be glad to see you.”
The customers, all fourteen of them, nodded or waved to Kelly. If she was okay for Kathy Pierce she was their friend too.
Kathy returned with the plate of fish, french fries and green beans.
Kelly wolfed down the fish and was half finished with the green beans before showing any sign of slowing down.
“Well, should I bring another one?”
“A little sheepishly, Kelly swallowed and smiled. “You just saved my life. But, no thanks. More and I’d be too full later.”
“How about a beer?”
“A glass of milk would be the best.”
By the time she returned, the rest of the food was gone. Kelly gulped twice and put the glass down as Kathy sat down with her.
“Kathy, I have an awful lot to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s good. But I can’t do it here.”
Harlan came in the door and brightened immediately when he saw Kelly. Waving to the regulars, he rushed over.
Kelly rose and her right hand banged against Harlan’s hard palm.
“Good to see you, Kelly. Real good.”
“I was just saying to Kathy I need to speak to you where we can talk privately for a while.”
“Harlan, she says it’s good. Tell you what, Kelly, we’ll go right on out to the house.”
She turned toward one of the far tables.
“Julie, would you watch the register and see the place doesn’t burn down for a while?”
“Sure, take your time.”
Kathy got her coat.
“You sure you can leave?”
“Oh, they watch it for us a lot. Not that they would want to, but how could they get away with anything?”
Kelly found that complete trust deeply pleasurable.
Outside, Kelly warned them again. “Now, I still don’t know who we can trust and when we get to the house, we’ll have to turn up some noise or talk outside. The house is almost certainly bugged.”
They each drove in train to the house with Kelly at the rear. Kelly could literally feel nourishment siphoning into her tissues, like summer rain into dry earth.
Conor Flaherty, the Defense representative, sang out.
“NSA found a device!”
“Send pictures to the site too when Hostage Rescue gets set up.”
“ETA for Hostage Rescue to the site?”
“Four minutes.”
“Horton, Joint Stars.”
“Go.”
“Vehicle approaching the farm, heading south on the road running adjacent to the west boundary of the property, coming up on your screen…now.”
“Santos, you hear that?”
Just above the storm of the rotor blades in the background, “Roger.”
“Horton, State Patrol.”
“Go.”
“Sheriff reports a phone call to the cafe was answered by a local resident who said Kathy and Harlan left with a friend named Kelly, in the two Pierce pickups and a rented car, apparently for the Pierce farm about two minutes ago.”
The Hostage Rescue Team was fully geared up. If they had to, they could deploy immediately anywhere the helicopter put them down. Sandoval and all of the Team members were working the maps, assigning responsibilities for power and phone and various approaches. There was no water line, no sewer, no gas line, and no cable TV. They determined there was only a single terrain feature offering any possibility for cover, a creek running through the property to within a hundred and fifty feet of the house. The only other cover was the shelter belt of trees on the north side.
When he heard that a vehicle was approaching, Sandoval grabbed a map and headed to the front of the Air Force MH-53 Pave Low Special Operations helicopter. He keyed the intercom for the pilot.
“We’ve got to head straight south and then approach landing from the east. We need to put as little noise footprint on the farm as possible.”
The pilot acknowledged, swung the big bird left to the south and dived, nearly pitching Sandoval forward into the cockpit. The pilot leveled at one hundred feet of altitude and feathered the rotor blades as much as safety and speed allowed to mush some of the normal WHOP-WHOP-WHOP-WHOP.
The pilot keyed the intercom to Sandoval.
“The wind is from the north. Your approach is going to give us a cross wind testing the limits. May need to come into the wind from the south, just to get you on the ground.”
Of the hundreds
of capabilities incorporated into this helicopter, this mission demanded that it do that one thing, put the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, Sandoval, and their equipment, on the ground as soon as possible. That no other machine could do it as fast as the Pave Low was irrelevant.
Fitzgerald saw the tree line that buffered the house a mile ahead. Momentarily, what sounded like a helicopter in the distance caught his ear. But it faded.
…probably a helicopter returning to Offutt from training…
The Joint Stars display showed a vehicle creeping down from the top.
The loadmaster had been counting off hacks at thirty second intervals. He shouted to Sandoval.
“We’ll keep the gear up and hover as low as we can…you’ll be about five feet above the ground in…ten, nine, eight…”
The cross wind was pushing the machine sideways and the pilot fought it. The bird bounced and shuddered making the footing inside treacherous.
Sandoval and the Team were ready to make the short jump. They had done it before. They knew you cannot land where you do not know if the ground is too soft for you to take off. The field under them was of unknown hardness. It was as close as they could get to the site without hitting phone lines along the road. They also knew the equipment would make their landing harder.
“…three, two, Go!”
Two by two they disappeared out the back of the big bay doors.
Rolling with their momentum each popped up and moved away.
Well before the last of the Team left the aircraft, Sandoval was on his phone.
When Sandoval keyed his phone the roar of the helicopter filled the Situation Room. Even so, the thumpy back beat of currently popular hip-hop music was audible from the boom box the State Patrol had turned on.
“Horton, Santos. We’re on scene.”
For a split second Horton wondered if the displays he had and Sandoval won’t have were enough of an advantage to justify reversing himself and keeping command.
…Fitzgerald is at large…maybe the oncoming vehicle is someone coming home from work…the Pierces are coming…better observation of the approaching vehicles is here…
“You have full command and control.”
The helicopter roared a little louder as it rose. The Thump-Thumpity music got clearer.
“Roger. I have command and control.”
Fitzgerald eased the car to the tree line. He had done this before. He saw the house was dark. The only lights were the barn light and the light on the pole in front.
…nobody home…just like before…the door won’t be locked…
It was a short walk beside the tree line to retrieve the Mack 10 from its hiding place, then to cross through to the house. After three minutes inside he would be wealthy. The helicopter noise briefly rose again and faded, like before.
…probably still training…
A rock band played somewhere.
Captain Schneider met Sandoval at the fence line and cut the three barbed wire strands with the huge shears that would have been used to open the Jeep doors if necessary.
“We’re ready, Mr. Sandoval.”
“I need one of the trucks right now for the power and phone teams.”
“This way.”
Sandoval’s Team and equipment filed through the gap.
The two men assigned to cut the power and the two assigned to cut the phone line heaved into the front and the back of the 1989 Chevy pickup and drove to the points on the map where the service to the Pierce farm angled off toward the house.
The remainder filled the other two pickups, a ‘92 Ford, and the other a Chevy painted hunter camouflage so it was difficult to recognize the year. No one paid any attention to the sealed Jeep.
Sandoval’s truck led and the other two trucks followed with the State Patrol vans filling in behind.
Sandoval was in back and turned to the optics handler. “Tell us when to stop.”
The man stood and put infrared night vision binoculars on the house. The angle of the terrain fell away and the entire house was in the field of view.
“Stop.”
Fitzgerald stopped the rental car just north of the Pierce’s tree line and turned off the ignition. He left the lights on in case a high-balling local resident came onto the car too fast to miss a darkened shape.
As the light on the left display slowed down approaching the house, Horton wished it to keep on going. It would be much better if Sandoval had more time to set up.
“Santos, the vehicle is slowing down to a stop. This could be Fitzgerald.”
“Okay, as long as the Pierces are away we can take him anytime, preferably after he leads us to where the devices are.”
“…I know the lawyer”…
The idea blazed through the Attorney General like a lightning bolt. He started talking as fast and as loud as he could so Santos could hear.
“This is John Corrigan…”
Santos swore under his breath. Some people could not resist mother-henning operations.
Horton was so appalled to hear Corrigan burst into the operation he almost started to shout him down.
Corrigan spat words as fast as he could. “…we-might-be-able-to-keep-the-Pierces-away.-Even-if-they-don’t-trust-us-they-will-trust-their-lawyer.-Senator-Charboneaux-knows-her.-If-we-can-get-him-on-the-line-to-tell-him-to-call-the-lawyer-the-lawyer-can-call-them…
“Horton, Joint Stars, three vehicles approaching from the east.”
“…or-if-we-can-get-the-switch-board-here-to-call-both-and-patch-them…”
Fitzgerald opened the car door and instantly wished he had thought to bring a coat against the cold night. He was pleased to hear the insane, raucous music from some juvenile celebration going on a mile or so away. It would help mask any noise he might make that could alert curious neighbors.
Stepping away from the car, he also wished he had brought a better flashlight. The one he had would be fine in the house but was barely good enough to highlight the ditch at the side of the road. He crossed the ditch, held the top strand of the fence wire up with the flashlight protecting his hand, swung his leg through, ducked under and ripped his pants swinging the other leg through. Another source of cold burrowed in through the hole in his pants.
…ah well, only another few minutes to the house and wealth…
The optics operator reported. “Individual approaching the house on foot.”
Unwrapped and slung on his shoulder, the Mack 10, with loaded clip, felt good to Fitzgerald.
31
The notion of calling Washington was eating at Kelly.
…maybe I should call Bonnie…somebody, anybody…really anybody with a copy of that motion should have done something… if they did, they didn’t call Bonnie…she would have called…no use calling her…
…it’s going to be the Pierces’ first question after hearing the story, “What have the government people done”…?
…if I say, “Nothing yet,” they will see deeper conspiracy…
…but call who…? NSA…? maybe, but what can they do now…?
…the Attorney General…? “Oh, yes Mrs. Hawkins we received your motion… very creative…we referred it to our Civil Division”…
…Senator Charboneaux…? “Hey, Kelly. Your motion, c’est bon my friend…I be goin’ to call NSA first thing in the mornin’”…
…maybe I should call them all just to be able to say, “Kathy and Harlan, I’ve been pushing all the buttons I can, even on the drive from the cafe”…
Kimberly Burke started FBI collecting phone numbers as soon as she heard who the Attorney General was talking about.
Fitzgerald momentarily paused when he noticed the car lights in the distance.
…probably just more party-goers…
He stepped to the back door, opened it and went inside.
Optics reported to Sandoval, “Individual now inside the house.”
Horton’s eyes glued to the display.
…there is a train wreck coming if those vehicle
s are the Pierces’, Santos lets them get to the house and that’s Fitzgerald inside…
Sandoval told his teams, “We don’t care who that is. We’re taking him on my command.”
Horton breathed a little easier knowing Sandoval had the right priorities
…but if those are the Pierces he also still has to stop them…now we can try Corrigan’s idea…
He keyed the switch board.
“White House.”
“Call Senator Charboneaux and Washington attorney Kelly Hawkins, patch them…”
Kimberly Burke got the numbers in her ear and read them as she did.
She gave a D.C number for the Senator’s cell phone.
“Got that White House?”
“Yes, Mr. Horton, dialing.”
Hawkins cell phone was a Virginia number.
“Ringing.”
Kelly finally gave in to her worry.
…I have got to do something…! even if the entire eavesdropping, lead-footed federal blob is asleep…
She reached into her coat pocket for the cell phone.
Fitzgerald calmly followed his flashlight beam through the house to the point on the living room wall where the line to the phone entered the jack and reached in his pocket for the screwdriver.
…it’s not there…maybe on the plane…maybe climbing through the fence…
Optics reported, “Individual in the house has stopped moving.”