Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series

by Helin, Don

  Sam took several deep breaths.

  “Questions?” Kaminsky opened his hands to signify his congregation should come forward with their concerns.

  Buster leaned forward. “How the fuck do we prevent ourselves from getting contaminated?”

  Sam stood. “When you ask a question, stand and give the professor your name.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Thorpe,” the professor said. “That would be very helpful.”

  Sam smiled at Buster. “Well?”

  Buster stood, his eyes locked on Sam. “Tyson. How do we stop from getting contaminated from this wild shit?”

  “Let me handle that.” General Oliver pointed at the mockup. “We’ll divide into teams. Only a few of you will actually get close to the material. It will be stored in a lead case and, as long as that case is not opened, there will be no danger to our teams. We’ll make sure the team that goes inside receives additional training.” He looked around the table. “Anything else?”

  Hector raised his hand and stood. “How long do we have to prepare?”

  General Oliver motioned with his hand. “Until I say we go.”

  Sam stood and looked at the men. “We’ll be ready.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Thorpe. You need to advise me when you think our teams are prepared. I’ll expect you and Mr. Lindsay to work together on that.”

  Sam glanced at Popeye, who kept his eyes focused on General Oliver.

  “Other questions?” The general looked up and down the table, his eyes going from one man to the next. “Ask them now because once we begin the training, it will be too late for any of you to turn back.”

  Silence filled the room while each of the men thought about this latest warning. Sam hoped Marshall wouldn’t say anything. He caught Marshall’s eye and shook his head. Marshall leaned back in his chair.

  “All right,” Oliver said, “we have things to do. Colonel Thorpe, please work with Mr. Lindsay to develop that plan. Have it on my desk in the morning.”

  Sam nodded. He needed to talk with Alex. She’d be at the pub in Thompsontown each evening from seven to nine. Sam had to get there tonight so she could get word to General Gerber on this latest development.

  Oliver turned to walk back into his study, and Sergeant Bacher pulled the door open for him. Professor Kaminsky followed the pair.

  The mockup on the table reminded Sam of the cost of failure.

  Sam pushed the door open and walked into the smoky pub. A Willie Nelson song floated across the room he’d walked into many times before. The mahogany bar on the left ran the length of the room. Five men and one woman hung over the bar in what looked like reserved spots. Most of the men wore cowboy hats and stared down into their beers.

  Two men who looked to be in their early twenties were shooting pool at one of three tables. One wore his baseball hat backwards on his head and dressed in jeans and sneakers. The other wore the more traditional country garb—jeans, a cowboy hat, boots, and a red plaid shirt.

  The lights in the bar stayed low, so it was hard to see all the tables. A chandelier made of deer antlers decorated the center of the room.

  Alex sat at the bar in her Harley Davidson jacket. When she turned to look back, the earrings in her left ear reflected the dim light over the bar. The bulky jacket concealed her Glock 21.

  To the right of the bar and parallel to it were six round tables. A rectangular mirror reflected the many bottles along the shelf behind the bar.

  The bartender was an antique named Jasper. Sam figured he’d been tending bar here, with the same cigarillo hanging out of his mouth, since he was ten years old. No question, Jasper was an integral part of the landscape.

  Jasper was an avid outdoorsman. His trophy large-mouth bass hung behind the bar in a place of honor, a rack from a twelve-point buck had been mounted against the opposite wall, and a grizzly bear skin from his one trip to Alaska graced the corner wall. Jasper could spend hours telling anyone who’d listen about that trip to Alaska. In just the short time Sam had been coming into the bar, he had heard the story enough times he could repeat it almost verbatim.

  “Bud, Sam?” Jasper called out when the door slammed.

  “Damn straight.”

  “How about an order of wings?”

  “Not tonight.” Sam had other things on his mind.

  “You got it.” Jasper reached down into the cooler for the Bud.

  Sam greeted a couple of the locals, patting them on the shoulder, then hoisted himself onto a barstool next to Alex.

  Jasper set the beer in front of him and plopped down a dish of peanuts. “Cold enough for you?”

  “Not yet.” Sam took a long pull on his beer and popped some peanuts in his mouth. “Somebody didn’t get the word that spring is supposed to be on the way.”

  He made eye contact with Alex in the mirror.

  She smiled at him. “Howdy. Your name’s Sam, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Name’s Alex, mister tough guy. Remember?”

  Sam didn’t respond at first. He looked over at her. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I’m staying with my momma. She’s having a bitch of a time with her lungs. I told her to quit smoking years ago, but would she listen? Hell, no.” She took a drag on her cigarette. “Guess I ain’t got much credibility to tell her to quit.”

  Sam nodded.

  “You look familiar to me. Ever been to Minnesota?”

  “I grew in Minneapolis. Played football at the university.”

  “That’s where I saw you. I was a football groupie. You were pretty darn good. Always wondered why you didn’t head to the pros.”

  “Had to get out and earn a living. Newly married, couldn’t chance the pros.”

  Alex glanced behind her. “What the hell is that over in the corner?”

  “Ask Jasper.”

  Jasper heard his name and sauntered over. “That, my lady, is a bobcat. I shot that big hummer two years ago. Mounted him for all the world to see.” Jasper spent the next ten minutes telling Alex about his hunting prowess and how he’d tracked the bobcat.

  The story had played for Sam so many times that he knew how and when it would end. He stood and stretched. “What say we move over to a table? These barstools hurt my back after while.” The soreness in his side continued to plague him.

  “Sure.”

  “Buy you a drink?”

  “That’d be nice.”

  Sam held up two fingers. Jasper reached down in the cooler for the beers.

  “Want a glass for your beer?”

  Alex nodded.

  “You know, real men can’t ask for a glass for their beer, comb their hair at the bar, or demand some clown turn down the jukebox even if they can’t hear a thing.” Sam laughed. “It’s a bitch being a guy.”

  “Screw it. Cancel the glass. I’ll be a real man for a night.”

  Sam slapped her shoulder and laughed. “Way to go.”

  Jasper called out, “Hey, Sam, did you hear the one about the two old guys sitting at the bar?”

  “No,” Sam replied, “but I think I’m about to.”

  “The bartender is cleaning glasses, see. One of the old guys looks at the other and says, ‘where you from?’

  The other guy says ‘Harrisburg.’ The first guy says, ‘I’ll be damned! So am I. Where in Harrisburg?’ ‘Second Avenue.’ The first guy says, ‘I’ll be damned! So am I.

  Where on Second Avenue?’ ‘Second and Reilly.’ ‘I’ll be damned! So am I.’ The phone rings and the bartender answers it. He says, ‘Yep, things are really quiet tonight except for the O’Malley twins arguing again at the end of the bar.’“

  Sam laughed, and so did Alex. “That’s a good one, Jasper.”

  Jasper’s smile died and he looked down, his face seemed to droop.

  Alex grabbed a handful of peanuts and popped them in her mouth as they walked back to a table.

  “Jasper seems like a nice guy,” Alex said, “but he looks depressed.”

  Sam chuckled. �
��He’s a fanatic Philadelphia Eagles fan … in a perpetual state of mourning when the Eagles blow a chance at the Super Bowl. Poor guy won’t perk up until next season. Then he’ll be on a high until they screw it up again.”

  Sam looked around. The surrounding tables stood vacant. No one seemed to care what they were talking about. “We got a briefing from Kaminsky tonight. The plan is to break into a facility and steal enough cesium—137 to make seven dirty bombs.”

  Alex grimaced.

  “You need to update General Gerber. I’d like to talk to Bob.”

  “How about a meeting tomorrow at the Colonial Commons Borders? It’s east of Harrisburg on old Route 22. The Barnes & Noble is getting too crowded.”

  “Agreed. How about eleven o’clock?”

  “It’s a date.”

  Sam bought her another beer and pushed a paper sack toward her. Inside were General Oliver’s fingerprints on the glass he’d drunk from in Sam’s office. “See what you can do with that.”

  She slipped it into her bag. “I’ll have a tape for you tomorrow.”

  Sam nodded. That meant he’d break into Oliver’s office tomorrow night. Tonight he’d need to double check the schedule of the guard.

  The door banged open and a tall man in a long black coat walked in. He removed his black wide-brimmed hat and shook snow from it. A well-rounded, blond-haired woman in a green ski jacket followed him. She looked as if she had skied one too many slopes.

  The man spotted Sam and waved. “Bless you, my son.”

  “Thanks, Reverend.”

  Alex looked at Sam. “Reverend?”

  “Yep.”

  “He doesn’t look any more like a reverend than I do.”

  “His one disciple is the woman behind him.”

  Alex’s jaw dropped open. Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen her quite so surprised.

  “Jasper told me he’s the bar’s answer to religion. Later on in the evening you’ll see them disappear into the back room. Apparently there’s a cot set up for the use of special members of the bar in need. You can hear both of them yelling, “Thank you, Jesus. Praise the Lord.’“

  Her face broke into a grin. “Guess I’ve heard it all now.”

  Sam couldn’t bring himself to laugh at anything now.

  Alex stood. “Come on. Let’s dance a little two-step. We need to act normal.”

  Sam walked over to the jukebox and dropped in a couple of quarters.

  Willy Nelson’s voice again filled the bar. Sam offered his hand, and she slipped into his arms.

  They danced around the room as Willy kept the beat moving. Sam had to admit that holding Alex felt good. He liked the way she moved against him.

  She leaned up and whispered into Sam’s ear, “Put your hand on my rear. Give the guys a show.”

  Her breath felt soft on Sam’s cheek. He wasn’t sure about this but figured, what the hell? Might as well enjoy his assignment.

  Alex’s rear felt soft and moved under his hand as they swayed around the room.

  Alex stifled a snicker. “My, my, you must like that.” She rubbed herself against him.

  He pulled back his hand and put it on her shoulder. “Goddamn, Alex, this isn’t a good idea.”

  “You may say that,” she whispered, “but your body is calling you a liar.”

  “Don’t you think I know what my body is saying?” He found himself sweating again.

  Alex reached up and whispered, “I’ll have to admit I find you intriguing.”

  Fortunately Willy took a break and Sam pulled back. He walked her back to the table.

  “Better go.” She buttoned up her coat. “Like my Harley jacket?”

  “Cool dude.”

  She said in a louder voice, “Gotta go take care of Momma. Thanks for the beer.”

  She plopped her wool hat over her spiked locks and walked out. The eyes of the locals all swung in her direction as if they were watching a one-sided tennis match.

  Sam walked back up to the bar and ordered another Bud.

  “Hell of a piece of ass.” Jasper smiled, showing his nicotine-stained teeth.

  “Really?” Sam smiled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sam strolled into the Borders at Colonial Commons a little before eleven o’clock. He had driven around the state capitol, across Memorial Bridge, then up to Reservoir Park, surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning. He sat in the Civil War Museum parking lot for twenty minutes before driving back around the capitol and out Highway 22 to the bookstore.

  He’d seen nothing suspicious and felt certain no one had followed him. To be sure, he sat in his Explorer for a few minutes and surveyed the lot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

  Entering the bookstore, he turned left toward the shelves and paged through periodicals, selecting four gun magazines. He walked over to the coffee shop, placed the magazines on one of the round tables, then wandered over to the cashier.

  A young woman, with fresh, peach-colored skin, red hair, and a nametag that said Amy asked, “May I get you something?”

  She reminded him of Emily. Same height, same blue eyes, though Emily had blond hair. He wondered how his daughter was doing.

  “Sir?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Sam stepped to the right and looked in the pastry cabinet. “How about one of those sticky buns with all the frosting and a cup of your house blend?”

  “Excellent choice, sir. I love the sticky buns myself. Don’t eat them much though … they’ll put the weight on you.”

  “You could have gone all day without reminding me.”

  She got a sheepish look on her face. “Sorry. Want me to nuke it for you? Makes it taste even better.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Sir?”

  “Uh, oh, yes.”

  “I thought that’s what you meant.” She popped the sticky bun in the microwave and drew a cup of coffee out of the silver containers behind her.

  “That sticky bun looks good.”

  Sam knew the female voice before he turned around. Alex stood behind him with Bob O’Brien next to her.

  “Amy swears by the sticky buns. Have to heat ‘em to get the full effect.” Sam paid, then picked up his coffee and bun. He weaved his way between the round tables to the window where he had left his magazines.

  Alex set her coffee down on the table behind Sam. She took a minute to pick up a copy of Sea Kayaking from the magazine rack. On the way back, she looked at the sticky bun. “Nope, don’t think so.”

  “A guy only lives once.” Sam paged through the magazine “Guns and Ammo.”

  “Are you a member of the National Muzzle Loaders Organization?”

  Sam glanced over at O’Brien. “Should I be?”

  “It’s a great organization.” He held up a magazine titled “Muzzleloaders.”

  “Tell me about it.” Sam sipped his coffee.

  They talked about muzzleloaders for a few minutes, Alex doing her best to look bored.

  A young mother seated near the counter lured her small child to be quiet with a bite of chocolate chip cookie. An older man wearing a denim jacket sat four tables away sipping tea and reading the Washington Post.

  Every few minutes the espresso machine started up, causing a whirring noise that made it almost impossible to hear each other.

  Sam invited the two of them to join him at a table. After some more small talk, he summarized his notes from the meeting. “It won’t take long before the men will be ready to go. The target looks pretty simple. Oliver didn’t say how well guarded it would be.”

  He handed a drawing of the mockup to Alex. “It looks like this. I assume we’ll travel by convoy, so it can’t be more than an hour or so away.”

  O’Brien looked away for a moment. “So they’re going after material to make a dirty bomb. I think it’s time to bring in the security folks from Three Mile Island. That same outfit provides security to a number of nuclear sites around the state.”

  “How can yo
u do that without tipping our hand?” Sam asked.

  “We’ll just use the old ‘we’ve got intelligence that says nuclear facilities may be under threat of attack. No specifics.’ And we’ll make the warning broad enough so they know we’re not only targeting Pennsylvania.”

  “Guess that’ll work.” Sam remained uneasy.

  “I’d like you to attend the briefing for these guys,” O’Brien said. “We’ll keep you in the back … no one will see you.”

  Sam shook his head. “Too risky.”

  “Okay.” O’Brien nodded. “Why don’t you meet Alex at the old saloon Wednesday night? She’ll update you on the meeting.”

  “Works for me.” Sam looked around again and lowered his voice. “We need to request that General Gerber fall out the nuclear emergency guys.”

  “Good point,” O’Brien replied. “I’ll meet with him right away.”

  “What can they do?” Alex asked.

  Sam nodded at O’Brien. “Why don’t you summarize?”

  “Sure. The Department of Energy created the Nuclear Emergency Search Team in 1975 after some problem up in Boston. They’re called the NEST.”

  Alex nodded. “What’s their role?”

  “The president agreed there had to be a specialized force to investigate nuclear threats, and it had to be done in a covert manner to prevent unnecessary public disclosure. The nuclear issue was already sensitive enough. He didn’t want to add to the concerns.”

  Alex took out her notebook. “Who’s on it?”

  “Better not write anything down,” O’Brien said. “The group consists of scientists from various government labs who can be formed in a hurry for incidents like we’re facing. They wear civilian clothes. Any information on their involvement is always closely guarded.”

  “Got to hand it to those guys,” Sam said. “They head out on short notice to search for nuclear devices and, if necessary, disarm them. I’m glad they’re on our side.”

  O’Brien reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s the tape with Oliver’s fingerprint. Stretch it over the glass on the fingerprint scanner. It should open the door right away.”