Blackout

by Nance, John J. ;

  “How’s it going?” he asked, his voice causing her to jump slightly.

  “Didn’t see you come in,” she said, turning back to the screen. “So far, still nothing. How about you?”

  “Well, for a while all I’d learned is the date and time of Wally’s funeral, and the fact that two more threats have been received since we’ve been here, shutting down Atlanta Hartsfield and Salt Lake City Airports. This group, Nuremberg, is really flexing its muscles.”

  “Or it’s a field day for kooks with phones,” she said, watching him sit down.

  “But I finally located my friend on vacation.”

  Kat sat forward. “Where?”

  “Tahiti.”

  “Good grief! Will he help?”

  “He will, if he can. He should be on a public phone at a secluded beach right this minute trying to arrange special research access, while a scantily clad young woman puts whatever they were doing on hold.”

  “You just had to get that in, didn’t you?” she asked, her face cradled in her right hand as she leaned on the desk and rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, I’m envious.”

  “So he’ll call you back?” she asked, changing the subject. “How? Surely you didn’t give him this number?”

  Robert sat on the bed and frowned at her. “Of course not. I’ll call him back. But I’m worried about those phone card numbers. Aren’t they traceable to you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but not immediately.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but it’s a decent guess, and we can’t use the satellite phone for everything.”

  The computer chirped. Kat raised a finger and turned back to the screen, typing in a few keystrokes.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A listing of scientists on a little-used database. I’ve been unable—” She sat forward and typed in another command. “Wait … a … minute! Wait just a darn minute!”

  “What?”

  “Just … a name I saw … triggered an idea. Hold on.” Several seconds elapsed as Robert maneuvered around behind her, his eyes focusing on the screen at the same moment a name and short dossier came into view.

  “Wait, Kat. That’s not Thomas?”

  She was shaking her head in excitement. “No, it’s not! Carnegie was fuzzing things up. The guy we’re looking for isn’t Brett Thomas, it’s Dr. Thomas Maverick.”

  “What? Are you sure?” He leaned over her shoulder, following her finger.

  “Look at his pedigree, Robert. U.S. government contractor positions in for the last twenty, almost thirty years. Los Alamos; Oak Ridge, Tennessee; NASA; and then Las Vegas.”

  “Why Vegas, I wonder? What’s out there?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably a lot of contractors. Nellis Air Force Base is in Vegas, or maybe he’s just retired.”

  “But there’s no Thomas?”

  She shook her head. “No Ph.D. issued anywhere in the Western world in the past sixty years to anyone even remotely close to that name. But this …”

  “Bret Maverick. James Garner’s character in that classic TV show. Clever way of reversing the names. No address?”

  “Don’t worry. Now that I know his name, I’ll find his address. Get back to work. Call Tahiti. Try not to drool too much.”

  “We need to eat sometime, Kat.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. First we need answers.”

  In five minutes he was back in her room with a long face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “He can do it, but not before this evening. There’s a window every night in which they update the computer. That’s the only time he can add an authorized user.”

  “So how long?”

  Robert looked at his watch. “It’s five-thirty now. He said to call him back about nine-thirty tonight, our time.”

  Kat looked deeply worried. “I wasn’t planning for us to stay that long. I don’t know who might be closing in on us.”

  “How, Kat? How could they find us?”

  She sighed. “The telephone calls, my mistake with the satellite phone. I don’t know, but I’m very concerned about staying here a second longer than we have to.”

  “Gut feeling? Because I trust a professional’s intuition.”

  She nodded. “Another thing I’ve been thinking.” She gestured to the edge of the bed. “Sit, please.”

  He settled in on the bed next to her chair, and she sat back and looked at him for a few seconds. “Let’s go back over this … see if we’re missing anything obvious.”

  “Okay.”

  “First, we lose the MD-eleven over Cuban waters to something that fried the eyes of at least one pilot. We know that for a fact.”

  “Right.”

  “Next, Meridian Five is attacked with a similar weapon—some sort of electromagnetic weapon—and you, yourself, live through the crash.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now we have a crash in Chicago, with this group claiming responsibility and using the name of the German city of Nuremberg, and now issuing threats to shut down major airports.”

  “Right. Possibly.”

  “Okay, but why? These people have gone to a tremendous amount of time, trouble, and expense to kill and frighten. Why are they doing it?”

  “Probably money, as we thought before. Maybe power has something to do with it, too, but my first guess is money.”

  “Why?” she asked, leading him slightly.

  “Because … they’re so well organized and financed?”

  Kat nodded enthusiastically. “Precisely. But they’ve made no demands. Now, maybe they’ve made no demands because they are just trying to soften us all up, but what if the chaos itself is their objective?”

  Robert leaned closer, studying her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I was thinking about this a few minutes ago, Robert. How can you make lots of money from seriously undermining the airlines? How about selling their stock short, or softening up the industry for financial takeovers? We’ve been thinking this is terrorism for political gain, directly or otherwise. But while we’re expecting direct extortion or ransom demands, they may already be getting precisely what they want from collapsing airline market prices.”

  “Are the stock prices down today?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Big-time. As much as a ten-percent drop. If this continues, they’ll go into free fall.”

  “Then … we should be looking for someone buying a lot of airline stock at the bottom, or selling them short?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s logical. Millions for billions.”

  He was following her logic. “In other words, this whole thing is built on cash.”

  “Lots of it, especially when you consider that skilled covert operatives with zero morals and good shooting skills are not plentiful and take large amounts of money to hire.” She shook her head and sat back. “No … money’s behind this in more ways than one. It has to be. Maybe it’s just Saddam Hussein or some wild-eyed Middle Eastern country or, God knows, maybe Slobby Milosevic, the butcher, throwing cash around to accomplish what they can’t do directly, but somehow this feels more corporate, um … more professionally organized and impersonal and nonpolitical.”

  Kat reached over and turned up the television, using the remote to surf through a dozen other cable channels, and entirely missing her own image as it flicked across the screen.

  “Wait!” Robert said suddenly, pointing at the TV. “Go back.”

  “What?”

  “That looked like you!” he said.

  Kat gave him a puzzled look as she backtracked two channels and stopped.

  “There,” Robert said. “You’re off the screen now, but that’s the channel.”

  The TV news reporter was standing outside FBI headquarters in Washington.

  … is a current picture of Steven Delaney, age fourteen, who, as I said, is reportedly being held by well-known FBI Special Agent Katherine Bronsk
y, seen here in a file photo from a year ago when she accepted a national award for her efforts to solve a skyjacking over Colorado. Agent Bronsky is thought to be armed and dangerous, and is acting for unknown reasons. Once again, all attempts tonight to get the FBI to comment have failed, a fact that angers Delaney’s father.

  The station cut to an interview with the senior Delaney, who was dripping concern and anger and righteous indignation at the FBI for kidnapping his son without a warrant, following his narrow escape from the carnage of a plane crash in southeast Asia. He was saying, “I just want my little boy back safely. I don’t know whether this woman has ransom on her mind, or whether she’s a sexual predator, but I want her prosecuted.”

  Kat hit the mute button and turned wordlessly to Robert, her eyes huge, her mind completely stunned. Finally she managed to get her mouth to work. “Did … did … you, good grief, sexual predator? Good Lord!”

  “I don’t believe that!” Robert said, his eyes still on the screen.

  Kat was on her feet, pacing the floor and gesturing wildly toward the screen. “I’m screwed! Not only did he just call me a pervert on national television, he just spread my face over a hundred million households! Or was that cable?”

  “No, that was a broadcast channel, but probably more like fifteen million.”

  “Holy moley! I can’t believe this. Suddenly I can’t even walk outside without running a high risk some guy in an undershirt swilling a beer will look up from his TV set long enough to spot me and call in the militia.”

  She sat down hard beside him on the bed. “I’ve just been checkmated.”

  “Well …”

  “I mean, unless I adopt a disguise or something …”

  Kat shot to her feet again before he could reply and paced to the door, then returned to lean over the desk, where she began scribbling something.

  “Are we a team?” she asked, her head still down as she wrote. She glanced up at him, sensing his puzzlement.

  “Of course. Why?”

  “I need you to go find a store and get me some things.”

  “What do you need?”

  She straightened up, her expression deadly serious. “You mind being seen with a blond tart?”

  “A … what?”

  “Will it hurt your reputation if a platinum-blond bimbo is hanging on your arm, popping gum?”

  “Kat, what on earth are you talking about?”

  She handed him a list. “This is what I need.”

  He took it and began reading. “Leather micro-miniskirt, size six, A-size panty hose, medium-size lacy blouse, either Revlon or L’Oreal platinum-blond hair-color kit, platform shoes …” He looked at her with a blank expression.

  “You know. High platforms, useless for anything other than advertising for male attention and twisting ankles.”

  “Oh.”

  “They should be flashy, but not too much so. You decide. The only hope we have is to change my image so drastically I can hide in plain sight. I’ve got to look so tarty, no one would believe for a second I even know how to spell ‘FBI.’ Not flashy enough to draw a crowd, but trash-flash five-and-dime tacky.”

  “We’re talking Jerry Springer?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Robert was shaking his head. “Believe me, this will do it. I’ll never be acceptable in polite society again.”

  “That assumes you were before,” she said, smiling.

  “Ouch!”

  “Seriously, can you get all that?”

  He checked his watch. “If I can find the right store, but I’ll have to move fast.”

  “It may be embarrassing, Robert. That’s a lot of girl stuff to buy.”

  He sighed and smiled thinly as he got to his feet. “You know, Kat, I was just trying to conjure up an image of the FBI Academy course that trained you to do this.”

  She smiled. “The classes were boring, but the lab work was fun.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  chapter 39

  STEHEKIN, WASHINGTON

  NOVEMBER 15—DAY FOUR

  8:10 P.M. LOCAL/0410 ZULU

  Dallas Nielson threw open the bedroom door where Graham Tash and Dan Wade were sleeping in two of the four bunks.

  “Guys, is Steve in here?” she asked, her voice urgent.

  Graham raised himself up on one elbow. “No,” he replied, rubbing his eyes and looking around the small room. Dan remained sound asleep.

  “Damn!” she said, shutting the door behind her.

  Graham got up and followed Dallas into the main room. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “He asked me earlier if I thought it was safe to go for a walk and I told him not only no, but hell no.” Dallas’s eyes were focused on the door. “I hate to be scared of my shadow, Doc, but what if those guys show up here?”

  “If Steve’s outside, he shouldn’t be,” Graham said.

  Dallas began pulling on a parka. “I’m planning on whupping his behind when I get my hands on him.” She finished zipping the coat and grabbed a flashlight before opening the door to a burst of cold night air. Graham held out a loaded .30-.30 from the stock of rifles. “You need this?”

  She turned and smiled. “I’m planning on finding the little runt, Doc, not bagging him.”

  “I’ll wait right here,” he said.

  Dallas shut the door behind her and stepped off the porch carefully, listening to the squeak of the borrowed oversized mukluks as she moved through the snow. She thought of yelling for the boy, but changed her mind. Best to look quietly.

  She glanced up at the moon, its stark, glowing beauty stunning as it rose radiant and almost full over the eastern ridge of the mountains, bathing the snowy landscape in a soft light that left only the deepest shadows unseen. A small, freshening breeze kicked up again, then died, rustling the branches overhead against a chorus of soft moans as a million pine needles combed the air.

  If I wasn’t so spooked, I could really enjoy this beauty, Dallas thought. She looked around carefully in all directions, letting her eyes adjust. There were footprints, undoubtedly Steve’s, leading away from the porch. They led into a stand of timber, and Dallas moved in the same direction, staying to one side.

  This is going to be easier than I thought, she assured herself. A cold chill rippled up her back as a dark shadow loomed ahead, but it was only a tree.

  She stopped and stood still for nearly a minute, feeling the cold creep into her body as she listened in silence. She could hear water running somewhere to the west, and the call of a distant bird, but no footfalls or voices. Dallas continued to follow the footprints, wondering whether the deep cold of the mountain valley or her rising apprehension was causing the trembling in her knees.

  Another dark shadow appeared to the right and seemed to move. Dallas felt adrenaline squirt into her bloodstream as she momentarily prepared to run.

  Oh, Lord! Dallas tried to catch her breath, her hand on her chest. Another tree.

  She looked down at the footprints once more, wondering why she was seeing double. Something wasn’t right about the marks that had been left in the snow. A second set of footprints! After Steve had walked by, someone else had emerged from the forest and followed him.

  There IS someone else out here! Oh my Lord, what do I do now? Dallas stood stock-still, her heart pounding. The .30-.30 she’d shunned was back in the cabin, but what if Steve were in trouble, or fighting for his life?

  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the night sounds, straining to discern anything unusual, such as a struggle in progress.

  Steve could be dead. No, that isn’t right. They wouldn’t kill him. They’d drag him off and question him first. In the distance now, faintly, she begin to hear muffled thumping sounds, which grew progressively louder.

  Footfalls!

  Her eyes strained to see ahead. A shape materialized in the trees in front of her, a figure charging toward her, head down, legs moving like pistons.

  “STEVE?” Dallas barked, and sa
w a head bob up as the frightened face of the fourteen-year-old became starkly visible.

  “RUN!” Steve yelled, pointing to the cabin as he passed her. “RUN!”

  Dallas turned instantly and broke for the cabin, feeling clumsy in the mukluks, as she turned her head to see what or who was behind them.

  “OPEN THE DOOR!” Steve yelled. “BEAR BEHIND!”

  “WHAT?” Dallas bellowed back. “YOU HAVE A BARE WHAT?”

  “BEAR! BEHIND … US … a BEAR!”

  Dallas looked toward the cabin, seeing a crack of light. Graham was holding the door slightly ajar, waiting for her. “GRAHAM! OPEN IT!” Dallas bellowed.

  They were less than twenty feet away when the cabin door swung open, the pool of light from within a welcoming beacon. Dallas could hear Steve’s breath coming in ragged gasps. He took the two steps to the porch in one jump and flashed through the door, with Dallas right behind. Steve pivoted and slammed the heavy door in place, turning the dead bolt and motioning Graham and Dallas back to the center of the cabin.

  “A bear …” he began, panting hard.

  A loud, heavy thud reverberated through the door. There was a deep, throaty groan and snuffling outside, and the sound of a heavy body moving along the wooden porch, creaking the timbers.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Dallas said, moving to the front window.

  “What are you doing, Dallas?” Graham asked.

  She didn’t answer, but peeked out carefully before turning to the other two. “I heard him, but I don’t …”

  Through the sound of shattering glass a large black paw thrust through the breaking window, inches from Dallas’s face. The claws raked in the opposite direction as she threw herself forward and scrambled to the others in the center of the room.

  Graham cocked the .30-.30 and raised the gun to his shoulder.

  The bear cried out in frustration as he swung a paw at the breaking window frame, shattering the remaining glass and catching the curtains. But when he could see inside, he spotted the humans. The bear stopped, his small eyes scanning the occupants as they stood in the middle of the floor and watched him, one holding the bead of the .30-.30 squarely on his forehead. For several very long seconds the bear weighed his conflicting desires in a basic, instinctive tug-of-war with himself. At last the learned caution about humans in groups won out, and the bear shook his head and backed away, roaming the porch for a few minutes before ambling off into the night, leaving the humans behind to deal with their own pounding hearts.