Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series

by Helin, Don

  None of the men spoke as they ate. Marshall, sitting next to Sam, just pushed the food around on his plate. Sam ate little, his stomach doing flip-flops as the tension built inside him. He needed to prevent the success of this operation without loss of life.

  Sergeant Bacher had been selected by Oliver to drive Sam’s vehicle. This would give Sam a chance to pump him for information.

  Sam looked at his watch. “All right. Let’s get moving. Everyone out to the trucks.”

  After checking to make sure the four men in the back of the truck had all their equipment, Sam climbed into the front seat of the gray Ford F-150.

  Bacher started the engine. “Don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt.” He chuckled. “Safety first.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Sam asked.

  Bacher shook his head.

  “What if we get separated?”

  He tapped his shirt pocket with his finger. “I’ve been authorized to open this envelope if that happens.”

  Bacher picked his way down the farm lane, following Oliver’s Jeep. The truck jostled Sam as it hit ruts. As they turned left, the paved road didn’t appear to be slippery although snow had accumulated along the shoulders.

  “When did you join the Patriots?” Sam asked.

  “When I got out of the Army about eight months ago.”

  “How long were you in?”

  “Six years.”

  “A couple of enlistments, headed toward being a lifer.”

  Bacher laughed. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to watch World War II films with my old man. The German soldiers were so disciplined. Followed orders … got things done. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to be a soldier. Joining the U.S. Army was the closest I could get.”

  They reached the next intersection. Bacher turned north to follow Oliver onto Route 235. When Route 235 intersected with Route 35 at the little town of McAlisterville, they turned right.

  Bacher shifted into third gear. “The General wants us to maintain at least a fifty-yard interval between vehicles to avoid suspicion.”

  Sam measured the distance with his eye. “You’re looking good.” He checked his compass. They were headed northeast. He felt his cell phone to make sure he’d turned it on.

  Bacher glanced over at him. “Expecting a call, Colonel?”

  Sam laughed. “Nah, guess it’s just habit.”

  Bacher leaned back in the driver’s seat. “This road is a real pain in the butt, Colonel. It’s twenty-five miles of one little town after another with a bunch of farms in between. You’ve got fucking tractors pulling out in front of you all the time.”

  Sam looked out at the darkness. “That shouldn’t be a problem now.”

  “True, but we’ve got to watch for Amish buggies. Did you read about that scum-bag who tried to kidnap, then killed some of those Amish girls at that school last year?”

  Sam nodded. “Didn’t he commit suicide?”

  “Yeah. They ought to hang a bastard like that up by his balls. Make an example out of him.”

  Sam looked out at the glare through the windshield as a truck passed them. Bacher was an interesting guy. Here he was so upset about the death of the Amish girls, yet he was helping that nut Oliver steal nuclear material to build dirty bombs.

  Bacher pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket and unwrapped it. “I served a tour in Afghanistan with the Special Forces.”

  “Understand things were pretty tough over there,” Sam said.

  “No shit. I wanted to get in the mainstream, so I volunteered for Iraq.”

  “You were in Iraq? What unit?”

  “If ya ain’t Cav, ya ain’t shit.”

  Sam smiled. “I had a Cav squadron attached to my brigade.”

  “I know, Colonel, I was in that squadron.”

  “You were?”

  Bacher nodded. “You had a good rep with the guys. Said you were a straight shooter. Tough but fair.”

  “Sounds like you were on the fast track. What made you get out?”

  “Bastards came after me because of my tattoos.”

  Sam remembered that certain tattoos were a problem in a couple of his battalions.

  “Now with all that shit in Iraq, no one wants to serve. All the blowhards sit back and let guys die. Recruiters are under pressure to let anyone in, and they do. I had a cell of neo-Nazi guys in my unit. Goddamn officers looked the other way. We were good soldiers. Did our job. But could I get promoted? Fuck no.”

  “You’re a bright guy, Bacher. You know the Army can’t keep radical guys in the ranks. Destroys morale, and who knows what’ll happen in a pinch?”

  “Bullshit. Ah … bullshit, sir.’

  Sam didn’t say anything. This conversation was going nowhere.

  “The ranks are full of creeps. Recruiters let them in. Stacks of them, and no one gives a shit. But let me have a damn tattoo of an iron cross, then that’s the end for me. The general made me realize that I had a future with him … could do the stuff I always wanted.”

  There was nothing Sam could say to make Bacher change his mind. He looked out the window, wondering where O’Brien was. The tech guys would triangulate the signal from the tracker in his cell phone to verify their location.

  Sam thought about Emily, then all the other daughters who were doing their homework, practicing cheerleading, helping their parents with chores. If Oliver had his way, some of these daughters and sons, too, would have their lives snuffed out. And for some wild-ass cause. He reached up and wiped sweat from his brow.

  Sam tested his radio with General Oliver. “Patriot Six, this is Patriot One. Commo check, over.”

  Oliver’s voice crackled across the radio. “This is Patriot Six. Received your transmission five-by. Out.”

  Sam had a VRC-47 radio so he’d be able to monitor the command net and maintain communications with the militia members in the back of his truck. Oliver stressed they should maintain strict radio discipline.

  “You seem like a good shit, Colonel. That’s why I didn’t like what the general did to you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, the night you got ambushed in the woods.”

  Sam jerked his head to look at Bacher.

  “Yeah, that was a test.”

  Sam couldn’t believe it. “A test?”

  “Rose is a weird bastard, a real psycho. He’s an ex-Navy Seal. Used to serve under Oliver before the kid got boarded out. Oliver challenged us to see if we could sneak up on you. Rose was supposed to track you and see how close he could get without you knowing it. Benson and I were to lay back. But Rose gets carried away in the hunt, and you know the rest.”

  “I figured it out when I saw Benson’s face the other day. And Rose wouldn’t look at me.”

  Sam looked over at Bacher.

  He nodded. “Guilty. But you damn near beat all of us. If I hadn’t, ah …”

  Sam swallowed his anger. A fucking test. And his back was still sore. He owed Bacher for that slam on the head.

  The convoy continued northeast on Route 35 until they reached the outskirts of Selinsgrove. It took the vehicles about forty-five minutes to traverse the twenty-five miles. Jackie had brought him up to Selinsgrove for dinner once. They’d attended a concert at a university in the town—Smothers Brothers and the Kingston Trio. What university?

  He tested file drawers in the back of his mind until he pulled out the drawer for that year. Hell, yes, Susquehanna University. Was this the one?

  It soon became moot because the convoy turned north on Routes 11/15 and continued toward Shamokin Dam.

  So much for Susquehanna University. What next?

  Alex shifted in the back of the Jeep, her butt sore from the hard metal. She kept watch out the window, trying to anticipate where they were headed. Bending down, she felt the reassuring lump of the .38 in her leg holster.

  The continual wheeze of Kaminsky next to her drove her crazy. He chain-smoked cigarettes, but at least she could keep her window open
. Goddamn cold with the wind blowing in, though.

  Kaminsky reached over and put his hand on her knee.

  She leaned toward him and whispered, “If you don’t move your fucking hand, I’ll take my knife out and cut it off. Then I’ll reach down and cut something else off.”

  Kaminsky jumped as if an electric current had pulsed through him. He pulled his hand back into his lap and slouched away toward the window.

  She ran scenarios through her mind. They would arrive at the site in less than an hour. Kaminsky would get out of the Jeep and go up to some door. She might or might not be asked to accompany him. Suppose she went in. How would she stop the theft? At what point should she pull out her weapon? Would there be others she’d have to subdue? Then she considered the possibility of staying in the Jeep. Should she pull a weapon on Oliver? At what point? What about the driver, Rose? How would she stop Oliver from communicating with the others? And what about Sam?

  She put her hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Where the hell are we going?”

  Oliver turned back toward her. “All in good time, my dear. All in good time.”

  She thought Oliver and the guy named Rose exchanged a nod. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Depends on the situation when we arrive,” Oliver replied. “If there are a number of people outside on the street, then we’ll need you to go inside with the professor. If not, well, let’s just wait and see.”

  “I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

  “I understand, my dear. Don’t worry. You’ll make a valuable contribution no matter what.”

  She leaned back. What the hell did that mean?

  Sam tensed as the convoy reached Shamokin Dam. Routes 11/15 passed through a major shopping area— Lowe’s, The Bon-Ton, Wal-Mart, Applebee’s—plus a number of strip malls and fast food places. Saturday night. The area swarmed with people laden with packages, boxes, and kids.

  What if some local cop, trying to do his duty, stopped one of the trucks? Maybe one of them had a taillight out. How would they explain a bunch of guys in black fatigues and night vision goggles in the back of the truck, each carrying a rifle? Why did Oliver take the risk of coming through here?

  A neon light flashed over a bar off to his right, “Two-stamp Tuesday, Wacky Wednesday, and Thirsty Thursday.” Sam had to chuckle in spite of the stress he felt boiling inside him.

  They made it through the crowded shopping strip malls without incident. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. The convoy turned right across the West Branch of the Susquehanna River. Sam looked up and down the river and thought he spotted a helicopter about 200 meters upriver. O’Brien?

  After crossing the West Branch, Oliver continued on Route 11, paralleling the main stem of the river. Sergeant Bacher kept his interval behind Oliver, close enough to maintain visual contact but not so close as to look as if they were following the Jeep.

  Sam checked his compass again. They were still headed northeast. “We should have left a guard back at the farm to keep an eye on the general’s office. We didn’t, did we?”

  Bacher shook his head. “No, sir. No need. Anyone trying to sneak in will get the surprise of his life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing really.”

  Sam couldn’t focus on that now. He kept watching for police cars. Oliver stayed well below the speed limit. The convoy, even with the maintained distance between vehicles, could attract attention.

  After ten miles on Route 11, they reached Danville. Sam looked at his watch. They’d been on the road about an hour and a half. The site had to be close now.

  A sign caught his eye: “Knuckle Buster Custom Auto Detailing. Every Time Automobile.”

  Sam laughed. “I don’t think I’d want to bring my car to that place.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  General Oliver’s voice cracked over the radio. “We will stop in five minutes.”

  Sam grabbed the mic. “Wilco.”

  Popeye’s voice came over the radio. “We will be ready to stop at your order. Over and out.”

  Sam sighed. Popeye must have been dozing in commo class when Sam told him about minimizing voice traffic over the radio.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Bob O’Brien focused on his Blackberry. “Oliver just passed through Danville.” He glanced at his watch. “The convoy has been on the road for eighty-four minutes.”

  Lieutenant Patrick looked down at the map spread out across his lap. “The closest college is Staten University. It’s located in Sharpsburg, just northeast of Danville.”

  O’Brien nodded. “Be alert. My bet is the convoy will be stopping soon.”

  “Roger.”

  O’Brien watched his monitor. “They’re pulling off the road. Pass the word to our teams. Then call the Sharpsburg chief of police. Ask him to notify the Staten University president of what we know. We’ll need their help in buttoning up and keeping students off the street.”

  “Roger.” Lieutenant Patrick grabbed his cell phone.

  O’Brien took a deep breath and pushed in General Gerber’s number.

  “Gerber.”

  “O’Brien here. Oliver just pulled off the highway. We’re about five miles from Sharpsburg, home of Staten University. I’ve alerted the chief of police and asked him to call the college president.”

  “Is the Nuclear Emergency Search Team with you?”

  “Yes, sir, about five miles back. They’ve got ten members spread into two vehicles, one disguised as a UPS van and the other a laundry vehicle. Their chief, Professor Sommers, told me the equipment they’ve got with them should be able to pick up unusual levels of alpha and gamma rays up to forty feet. They have equipment on call that will be able to detect radiation from hundreds of feet away.”

  “Let’s hope we won’t need that.”

  “Yes, sir. We should be able to keep their participation under wraps.”

  “Keep me informed. I’ll call the Secretary and the White House Situation Room to give them this latest information.”

  “Better alert Homeland Security, and FEMA needs to be ready in case of a problem.”

  “Good idea. I’ll give the assistant secretary a call. And I’d better call the governor to update him since we’re using his national guard troops.”

  “That about covers it.”

  “Good luck, Bob. Give me half hour updates, sooner as things break.”

  “Yes, sir.” O’Brien disconnected. What else should he be doing? He couldn’t think of anything. Probably would later. It always seemed to go that way. He smiled to himself. What the hell! That’ll give the Monday morning quarterbacks something to kibitz about.

  The Jeep’s taillights turned right off the highway. The lights bounced as Oliver moved onto a rutted dirt road. Bacher followed, the wheels of the truck spinning on the ice. A dusting of snow covered the ground.

  Oliver’s voice sounded over the radio. “We’ll stop ahead. Have the men stay in the vehicles. Thorpe, Popeye, and Boris, join me at my Jeep.”

  The four vehicles pulled into a clearing, tall pine trees encircling the open area. Sam jumped out and did a quick surveillance. The area remained in darkness; no lights from nearby houses and no vehicle tracks on the road. Oliver had found a well camouflaged rendezvous site.

  Sergeant Bacher stepped out of the truck and stood by the driver’s door at parade rest.

  Sam walked around the vehicle and faced Bacher. “You know, when you hit a guy from behind, you should make sure you complete the job.” Sam clenched his fist and hit Bacher in the face. Bacher’s head snapped back and banged against the vehicle. He fell to the ground. Sam pulled him up by his coat and slapped his face.

  Bacher shook his head, his nose bleeding.

  “Don’t give a guy a chance to come back at you because he sure as hell will.”

  Sam straightened Bacher’s coat collar. He turned to see Rose staring at him, his weapon pointed at Sam’s chest.

  “Stop it,” Oliver called. �
�Rose, get over by the Jeep.”

  Before the night was over, either Sam or Rose would finish this fight.

  Sam walked across the clearing to where Oliver stood, illuminated by the quarter moon hanging low in the sky. “You shouldn’t have told them to sneak up on me and knock me out from behind. If you wanted to test your men, there are a hell of a lot better ways to do it.”

  The two stared at one another, the others seeming to hold their breath. The wind gusted, causing a chill down Sam’s back. Sam pulled his jacket collar tighter around his neck.

  Oliver looked at the ground. “I underestimated you, Thorpe. Let’s call it square.”

  Sam nodded. No way had they squared things, but that would have to wait until later.

  Oliver had a pack of papers in his hand. He handed one to each of them. “This is a strip map of the site. It’s about four miles from here. Thorpe, you follow me to the assembly point on the map. You’ll disembark your men from the truck, but keep their weapons locked up. On my order, issue the weapons, then secure the perimeter of the lab.”

  Sam looked at the map. They were going into the science building at Staten University. O’Brien knew where they were. He’d be ready.

  Sam reviewed the plan in his mind. Once Oliver’s convoy had arrived at the site, O’Brien would allow Oliver’s men to enter the building, actually break into the lab. The FBI and state police SWAT teams would encircle the building and stop Oliver’s men on their way out. O’Brien said he needed to ensure there’d be no question of intent.

  Sam returned to the truck. He pulled open the back window of the cap. Four pairs of eyes stared at him.

  “All right, men, listen up. We’re about four miles from the target. When we stop, I’ll come back and open the door. Each of you is to climb out, but stay close to the truck. On my signal—two sounds of this whistle—return to the truck, pick up your weapon, and assume the positions shown on this map.”

  Sam pulled out his flashlight and showed them the map. “Questions?”