by Paul Stein
Rafie assisted Jarrod Conrad, whose hands were still bound, off the trailer. “Good oh, Professor…make tracks,” Kilmer said, shoving Jarrod roughly toward the fold-out ladder on the back of the trailer. “It’s on yer head if ya see yer rellies again. No bullshit…use yer loaf and ya just might save yer bum.”
Turning, he called, “Mills! Blimey, what’s the holdup? Git yer arse in gear.” Mills was carrying Conrad’s all-important laptop computer and hurried to power up the computers to bring everything online.
Ye…ye…yessir, right away,” he replied meekly. Mills was completely out of his element; his hands were shaking and he was wriggling like a small child about to pee his pants. He sensed Kilmer wouldn’t hesitate to cut his throat when he had finally served his purpose.
Jarrod was amazed by the efficiency of Kilmer’s men. They had only arrived moments before and already a man was connecting the overhead power lines to a drop cable that ran directly into the antigravity device. Mills began elevating the focal array as self-leveling outriggers balanced the trailer. Under normal circumstances he would be excited to see what his machine could do, but his only thought now was how to bring it down. Time was running out—this was the moment of truth.
Agent Jason Henry and Emerson Palmer were in close pursuit of the convoy but stayed a safe distance back to avoid being identified as a tail. When the Kenworth dump truck slowed and parked about two miles from the base entrance, they passed it by, determined to stay close to the antigravity machine and the twenty pounds of plutonium it contained.
Their mission was clear: General Blake Freeman had ordered them to allow full activation of the machine, but to take charge before the depository was breached. Supposedly, they would be joined in opposing the assault by the base security, which included the Army Third Cavalry with their M-1 Abrams Tank Brigade. Without direct communication from the base, they still had no idea how this would be accomplished. Their experience as cleaners, however, dictated they follow Freeman’s orders and trust that the base commander would intercede at the right time.
Henry drove on fast approach to the delivery gate that only a moment before had admitted the Peterbilt carrying Dr. Conrad and his antigravity machine. The MPs judged his vehicle’s excessive speed and screeching halt at the gate as a hostile act. The first guard stepped from the guardhouse with weapon drawn. There was no mistaking from the man’s combative look that he was ready for a battle.
“Put your hands on the dash where I can see them,” the guard shouted, pointing the gun steadily at Henry with both hands. As he covered the driver, the second MP took a position behind the vehicle to cover the two occupants from the rear.
Henry was infuriated by the delay. He hadn’t expected a confrontation with the guards, but recognized that the time of night and the way he approached the gate gave the MP little latitude in response. “Corporal, I’m with the DOD,” Henry urgently bellowed through the closed window. “We have an emergency! The depository is under attack by the truck that just passed through…there’s no time to spare.”
The first MP never blinked or wavered; he continued pointing his sidearm at Henry, ready to act upon any false move. “Sir, I advise you…keep your hands visible. The base commander is aware of the training exercise. We have no knowledge of DOD intervention.”
“Jesus Christ, man…call your superiors! I’m not fucking around. The vault will be under attack in minutes…it’s no exercise. We don’t have time for this bullshit.”
“Charlie, call Captain Yates,” the first MP yelled to his partner. “See if he knows anything about DOD attending the training exercise.”
“Okay, sir, I’m going to open your door. I want you alone to step out of the car. Your passenger will keep his hands on the dash. If he moves an inch, I’ll be forced to shoot. Are we clear?”
“Understood, Corporal…but you’re making a big mistake. Let me get my ID and we can clear this up.”
“One thing at a time, sir. When you exit the car, place your hands on the back of your head.”
Henry obeyed the MP’s instruction. Once outside the vehicle, the MP frisked him and promptly confiscated his weapon.
“Show me an ID, sir,” he said, taking a giant stride back.
Henry slowly reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a leather bi-fold containing his badge and DOD identification. He presented it to the corporal for closer inspection.
“Charlie…we’ve got Special Agent Jason Henry from DOD… what the hell’s going on?” he asked with a look of embarrassment on his face. He handed back the ID and gun, realizing he’d made a serious mistake detaining the agent.
“I’m terribly sorry, Agent Henry,” Sergeant Charlie Kolbe said as he walked from the guard shack. “Captain Yates cleared these men; in fact, they are part of the exercise. We apologize for the inconvenience, sir.”
“Inconvenience, my ass, Sergeant. The next time someone shows up at your gate claiming to be DOD, give them the benefit of the doubt before shaking them down. Now open the goddamned gate!”
“Right away, sir.”
“There’s a second truck coming,” Henry warned. “That one you’ll stop at all costs. It’s a big dump truck hauling a skip loader. They do not get through, understand? Now, call the base commander. Tell him the mission is going down right now. Get everyone out there… move!”
“Yes, sir…we’re on it, sir.”
The Brandenburg Gate to Fort Knox opened for the second time, admitting Agent Henry and Emerson Palmer to the base. They sped past the guardhouse in hot pursuit of Dr. Conrad, not knowing what to expect. Henry took small consolation in knowing that whatever lay ahead would finally bring an end to his maddening effort to solve this case. Who would have ever believed the trail that began at the Quantum Building in Stanford only days before would lead to Fort Knox? This one’ll be analyzed for years to come….
SIXTY-SIX
RYAN MARSHALL raced with David Morris from the Wildcat compound for the Explorer parked a short distance beyond Struffeneger’s house. Everything was moving too fast for Ryan to grasp. Being held captive, listening to the harrowing sound of Jeremiah being tortured, and then the surprise rescue had pushed the limits of his endurance. Never a person prone to histrionics, this was definitely one time when his coping skills were stretched beyond their limit. As they ran, it seemed as if he were in someone else’s body.
“I’ll drive,” Morris said, indicating with an outstretched hand for Ryan to yield his keys to the Explorer.
“Gladly,” Ryan replied.
Morris recognized that Ryan was shaking. The tremble in Ryan’s hand as he handed over the keys confirmed that the ordeal of captivity had overloaded his bloodstream with adrenaline; nervous energy was coursing through his body.
“Deep, slow breaths,” Morris instructed, trying to help Ryan quell the shakes. Ryan forced himself to relax but it took several minutes before the shaking began to subside and he could speak coherently.
Morris drove from the Wildcat compound like a man possessed, speeding after Conrad’s kidnappers. As they drove, Ryan began explaining in detail his decision to confront Jarrod about being implicated for the Quantum break-in. He disclosed the years of utter hatred the two men shared and their single-minded obsession to destroy one another; how when they finally met head-on in Stanford, years of enmity seemed to miraculously dissipate; that when Jer was kidnapped, he felt his only alternative was to remain a fugitive and pursue the kidnappers; that Sarah had joined him and with Jarrod’s help they were able to track these men to Kentucky; and how their rescue attempt had failed, resulting in their own capture. Now, with full awareness of all that Jarrod had sacrificed to save his family left him no choice but to follow his cousin to Fort Knox.
When Ryan relived the telling of his story, he could hardly believe he was speaking about his own actions. Had he stopped to consider any one of these decisions before carrying them out, he couldn’t have succeeded. But using blind faith and unremitting determination had helped
him prevail. Why stop now?
“You are one crazy son-of-a-gun, Mr. Marshall,” Morris said, listening quietly to Ryan’s narrative of the past few days. “For having no law enforcement experience, no backup, and no real plan…I’d say you and your wife did quite well for yourselves. You’re a very lucky man.”
“Do you have any idea who’s behind this, Lieutenant?” Ryan asked when Morris seemed to have run out of questions.
“Well, according to Angelina, Sela Coscarelli was kidnapped by her former boss and boyfriend, Alastair Holloway. He’s some big-time oil baron worth billions and is somehow connected to your cousin’s partner, the late Dr. Niles Penburton, who was killed at Stanford two days ago. It seems Penburton was in cahoots with Holloway to steal your cousin’s research. But the whole elaborate plan, from Quantum to Livermore to Fort Knox, seems to have been masterminded and financed by Holloway. The men doing his bidding are merely mercenaries. We’ll know for sure when Holloway’s picked up.”
He paused momentarily and cleared his throat. Ryan handed him an unopened bottle of water.
“Thanks,” Morris said, taking a long drink to quench his thirst. “Anyway, the two men ahead of us formerly worked together for the CIA,” he continued. “They’re the real pros here tonight. They decided not to alert the local police, or pick up Holloway, until after tonight’s operation had commenced. They don’t want to chance tipping him off. He’s so well connected that if he flees the country it would take us months, if not years, to track him down. We believe he’s waiting for news of tonight’s operation at his estate in Hilton Head. He’ll be picked up first thing this morning.”
“Whew,” Ryan said, blowing softly through pursed lips, a grim look on his face. “It’s hard to imagine the advanced planning they did. So you think this Holloway actually set out to implicate me from the very start, using my hatred toward Jarrod as motivation? And he vandalized my tower crane to provoke me…fully expecting my response? Unbelievable,” he said with a sigh.
“That’s what it looks like, Mr. Marshall. But what Holloway didn’t figure was just how clever your cousin is. Hiding a secret component integral to operating his machine was a stroke of genius…and it changed everything.”
“It won’t be the first time someone underestimated Jarrod,” Ryan said wryly. “I’ve never known anyone to come out on the winning end challenging his intellect. He’ll let you know it, too. He can really piss a guy off. But right now, I’m damned proud of him.”
Morris nodded his head, agreeing with Ryan’s sentiment. “We’re pretty sure the man who kidnapped your son from Conrad’s house that night was actually there to murder you both. Fortunately, before it happened, they discovered they still needed Conrad alive and the plans abruptly changed. Jer’s abduction was mere coincidence, probably because the man inadvertently stumbled on to the private detective who was tailing him from New Mexico. It seems Sela was the real leverage to compel Conrad’s cooperation. It’s all speculative, of course…but that’s as good as we can piece together so far.”
“Incredible…”
“But all the inside information—from making you the fall guy, to breaking into Quantum, to kidnapping Sela—could only have come from Penburton. We’re certain about that. Holloway then canceled his ticket to cover his tracks. We’ve had a hell-ov-a-time piecing everything together.”
“I’m just amazed,” Ryan said, flummoxed by Morris’s accounting of what law enforcement had uncovered. How could anyone ever conceive of something so elaborate and believe they could actually pull it off?
At that moment, Morris recognized they were fast approaching the Kenworth hauling the skip loader. It was parked on the side of the road. Before he overtook them he slowed but passed without stopping, observing there were two men in the cab of the truck. He needed to make a hasty decision: Should he continue to the Army base or divert his attention to this unit? This unit was obviously waiting for the first group to complete their objective and would later arrive to haul out something, most likely gold, with this equipment.
The road ahead took a slight bend as he drove past the Kenworth. They were out of sight. Morris pulled to the side of the road and parked.
“Why are we stopping?” Ryan protested.
“Mr. Marshall, I remind you…I said we’d do this my way. Let’s see what these guys are up to….”
Jeremiah Marshall couldn’t have been in better hands. Even though the pain from the horrendous burn was excruciating, he enjoyed being pampered by three women in the aftermath of their shared ordeal. He curiously watched the striking woman he knew only as Angel indelicately throw a small rug over Farley, covering what remained of his splattered head. She stepped carefully next to the blood pooling in a large perimeter beneath his slain body to accurately make the toss, an odd mixture of disgust and satisfaction on her face.
Sarah never left his side, and as they awaited arrival of the police and paramedics, they listened to Sela’s call to Alfonse, who they knew would be eager for news of the rescue.
“Dad, it’s Sela…we’re all safe. Jer’s been injured but he’s going to be fine,” she said, waiting for a response from her father.
There was no immediate reply while Alfonse Coscarelli struggled to make sense of what he’d just heard. It was past midnight, and he awoke from a fitful sleep feeling confused. Is this a dream? Is it really Sela? What’s going on?
“Dad…it’s Sela…are you alright?” she asked, growing concerned.
“Oh, my gracious, yes…I’m fine, sweetheart. It’s just the phone startled me. I’m a little groggy. What’s happened?” he asked, sounding more like himself.
“We’re someplace in Kentucky. Jer’s been hurt but he’ll survive… paramedics are on the way. Sarah and I just wanted you to know we’ve been rescued. It’s over, Dad. We’re all together; we’re going to be alright.”
“Oh praise God; great news,” Alfonse said breathing a sigh of relief. The revelation that his family was out of harm’s way was slowly settling in, a reassuring calm transforming his troubled demeanor. “What’s happened to Jer?”
“We can discuss this later, Dad. It’s a long, story but he’ll survive. I just wanted you to know we’re all safe and that I love you.
“Okay, sweetheart, call me back as soon as you know something more about Jer. Tell him I love him, too. Call me back…” he urgently reiterated.
“I will, Pop…we all love you,” Sela said again, hanging up the phone just as the paramedics came through the door.
“Hurry, over here,” Sarah ordered as the medics immediately went to work on Jer’s hideous burn. Then she silently prayed: Keep Ryan and Jarrod safe. Deliver them from evil.
Lieutenant David Morris faced an unwelcome dilemma. He shut off the ignition to the Lincoln Navigator some distance beyond two of the men about to raid Fort Knox. The discussions between Agent Henry and Emerson Palmer had never considered the possibility of the men they trailed splitting their forces. They also weren’t expecting him and Marshall to show up at Fort Knox. But now it appeared he had an unprecedented opportunity to waylay the perpetrators’ strategy and drastically alter their mission. He guessed his biggest problem would be handling Ryan Marshall, who was expecting to proceed to Fort Knox without delay.
Morris’s concern was short-lived. Ryan was furious the second the car’s ignition shut down.
“Get out of the car,” Ryan said, pointing Farley’s 9-mm Glock at Morris. There was no mistaking his deadly earnest tone.
“What the hell are you doing?” Morris asked. His jaw dropped, taken aback by Ryan’s reaction.
“I told you, Lieutenant that I’m going after my cousin. I don’t have time to screw around. If you have other ideas, I can’t stop you… but I’m leaving with or without you,” Ryan said, quickly grabbing the electronic key fob that controlled the vehicle’s ignition.
“Whoa! Calm down, hoss…you don’t want to be doing this. You’re in enough trouble; don’t add another obstruction charge to your list of
infractions. For chrissake, man, think about what you’re doing,” Morris steadily coaxed, hoping to talk sense into the man.
“I know the trouble I’ve caused, Lieutenant, but this is the end game. There’s no way I give up the fight now. I told you, Jarrod’s my priority. I don’t expect you to understand…it’s a matter of honor. Jarrod’s put himself in harm’s way for my family. I’ll be damned before I’m stuck on the side of this road while he’s in there alone. Now…get out of the car! Don’t make me repeat myself,” Ryan said, pointing the gun at Morris’s head to emphasize his demand.
Sitting in the pale moonlight filtering through the car, Morris felt frustration that knew no bounds. With a scowl and a cantankerous sigh, he turned and heaved forward his small satchel of gear from the back seat. Then he cautiously stepped from the car, trying not to avert his eyes from Ryan. He could see from Ryan’s rigid posture that he meant what he said. The man has principles, I’ll grant him that.
Morris hastily summarized his options. His choices were limited: Attempting to take Ryan’s gun would risk getting shot; a shootout once outside the vehicle would likely alert the perpetrators in the Kenworth, eliminating the element of surprise, which was unacceptable. His only reasonable choice was to let Ryan go and attempt arresting these guys after he’d gone. In the bigger scheme of things he knew the dump truck was his priority. “Christ, man, you’re making a big mistake. Don’t do this,” he urged.
Ryan shrugged, deflecting Morris’s well-meant advice—as wise and sincere as it might be, he knew he couldn’t take heed. “The last few days have been full of well-meaning people telling me I’m making a mistake, Lieutenant. But I’ve somehow survived, following only my hunches, listening to only my intuition. I’m running on raw instinct, relying on what my heart directs me to do. It’s not in my nature to quit,” Ryan explained, cognizant that time was slipping away.