by Helin, Don
Marshall piped up. “C-c-c-c-colonel Thorpe.”
Sam knew Marshall’s voice right away. “Yes, Marshall.”
“A-a-any idea how long-g-g this will t-take?”
“If all goes well, we should be on our way out of town I’d guess within twenty minutes. All depends how long it takes to get the material inside the lab.”
“Lab?” Randy’s voice seemed to go up about three levels. “What lab?” Randy was a heavy-set black-haired man with slow speech and even slower movements.
“One of our teams will move into the science lab to take the material.”
Randy shuffled his feet in the back of the truck. “Ah, I don’t like none of that creepy science stuff.”
“I don’t either,” Sam replied. “We won’t go inside. Another team will do that. We’re simply to secure the perimeter.”
Randy snapped his fingers. “Out-fucking-standing.”
There was a chorus of chuckles from the truck. The men were putting up a good front, but Sam could sense they were nervous. He wondered just how many really knew what they were getting into. Would they still have volunteered?
“All right, men. This is what we’ve trained for. Remember what you learned, and you’ll be fine. Don’t forget your arm and hand signals. We don’t want a bunch of whooping and hollering.”
He closed the back window and climbed into the truck. The darkness surrounded him.
Bacher sat behind the wheel, eyes straight ahead, a handkerchief to his nose. He shifted the truck into drive and inched forward.
Showtime.
George Case sauntered along the sidewalk between the science building and the engineering building, blowing on his hands to keep warm during his security rounds. Why hadn’t he remembered to bring his gloves? It must be close to ten degrees outside, and here he was walking around these buildings where nothing ever happened. He wouldn’t need gloves down in Orlando enjoying Disney World. His wife kept playing cards with her buddies, warm and toasty, while he stood out here freezing his butt off.
He’d hurry and finish his rounds, then get back inside to the lounge where the security guys could drink coffee and warm up. The coffee was instant crap out of a machine, but at least it was hot. Well, he thought, almost hot. He wished the other guard would quit smoking. Guy made the room smell like the bottom of an ashtray.
George walked up to the front door of the science building and pulled on the double doors. All secure.
He was about to head back to the administrative building when he decided to walk around the science building to double check that some students weren’t making out in one of the classrooms. Why didn’t that ever happen to him? He was still good-looking. Maybe a little chunky, but he could suck in his gut.
George checked his watch—10:45. Damn, another hour until his relief arrived. He followed the sidewalk to the rear entrance, careful not to slip on the ice. He’d fallen on his ass last night. Damn back still hurt. When he’d told his wife, she’d laughed and told him to watch his step. So much for sympathy.
He got to the rear of the building and checked those doors. All secure. He looked across at the mall area between the buildings. No one out walking. Well, no kidding. Who in their right mind would be outside on a night like this? He walked back around to the front, down the steps, and toward the warmth of the administration building.
George turned up the front sidewalk of the administrative building. Something made him look back toward the street. A black Jeep drove along the street, barely moving. George prided himself on knowing most of the vehicles in town. He didn’t recognize this one.
The man in the passenger’s seat looked at him, but didn’t wave. That was unusual in this small town. Everyone waved when they drove by. The guy must have been from out of town. Seemed like a funny vehicle for one of the parents. Most of them drove those big geezer cars—Buicks or Cadillacs.
He shivered, then slipped his key into the lock and walked inside the administration building. Time for something hot to drink to ward off another dull night on the job.
Maybe his partner would give up smoking. Yeah, right.
Sergeant Bacher drove Sam’s truck into town, following Oliver in a five-minute incremental pattern. He hadn’t spoken since the incident at the last stop.
Sam had never been to Sharpsburg, but it had the look of a typical small college town; just the opposite of the University of Minnesota, where he had attended school. Staten probably had around a thousand students registered, if that.
The University of Minnesota was a commuter campus. Most of the kids there lived at home and drove back and forth to school. The opposite was probably the case here. Most of these students probably lived on campus and might be wandering around late at night. These kids could get caught in the middle of this thing. Sam ran alternatives in his mind, trying to figure how to protect the kids.
As they drove uphill toward the main part of the campus, the wheels spun on patches of ice, forcing Sergeant Bacher to drop the transmission back into four-wheel drive.
The town had the typical college stores—a bike shop, a theater with the movie “Chainsaw Massacre” playing, three pizza parlors, a Laundromat, bookstores, and of course a number of taverns.
Sam directed Bacher to stop at the corner of Main Street and 2nd Avenue. He jumped out of the front seat. The town stood quiet, the buildings like sentinels of stone. In spite of the cold, Sam wiped perspiration from his forehead.
He scanned the area with his binoculars. Two blocks down the hill, a half dozen students wandered toward the center of town, probably headed into a bar. He couldn’t help but think about his daughter. What if she went to Staten?
Sam waited until the last of the youngsters disappeared. He dropped the cargo door on the back of the truck and motioned with his hand. Marshall jumped out, followed by Randy then the two other men. They moved down the street in different directions.
Sam walked to the front steps of the science building. He looked up at the stately arches supported by granite pillars. Here he stood, waiting to steal nuclear materials from a university to make bombs. Shit. This made his stomach turn.
He climbed the stairs and paused, listening before moving up toward the door. Professor Kaminsky puffed up the stairs, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Are you ready?” Sam asked.
Kaminsky nodded and patted his coat. “I’ve got the radiation alert monitor strapped to my belt.”
The village clock struck eleven. Kaminsky pulled an identification badge from his pocket. When he slipped the badge inside the reader, it clicked. Kaminsky opened the door and hurried inside.
Where the hell was Alex?
Bob O’Brien stared at his monitor, then at the map. He called instructions into the mic. “Station police cars at either end of Market Street; then locate a car on the opposite side of the mall. Alert the swat teams to move in and surround the campus. Box them in.”
Patrick nodded. “We’ve got two extra cars to reinforce the roadblocks.”
O’Brien spoke again. “FBI, coordinate the placement of the state police and the swat teams when they arrive.”
“I contacted the chief of police, guy by the name of Thompson,” Patrick said. “He’s calling the Staten University president and asking that he initiate their emergency plan. Ever since that god-awful shooting at Virginia Tech, colleges are implementing a mass text messaging system that sends alerts to students’ cell phones. It’s faster than e-mail because kids don’t check their e-mails as often as they check their phones. Believe it or not, about 95 percent of college students have cell phones.”
“I believe it,” O’Brien said. “I swear my daughter spends half her life on that phone.”
Patrick nodded. “The text messaging system should keep kids hunkered down in their dorms as if a tornado were coming through.”
“I’m calling General Gerber.” O’Brien pressed in the general’s number.
“Gerber.”
“We’re in place.
Oliver’s vehicles are in town. We’ve coordinated with the chief of police. The university president is initiating the text messaging plan to lock down the campus and keep the kids inside.”
“Roger. I’ll pass the word to the White House. Good luck.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Sam hurried back to the truck. When he reached the cab, he blew two soft sounds on the whistle.
Marshall arrived first. Sam handed him a rifle. Marshall took the weapon, holding it down parallel to his leg, and walked up the sidewalk toward the science building. Sam did the same with the other three men. Marshall walked around to the back, Randy stayed in the front, and the other two took up positions on the corners of the building.
At exactly five minutes after eleven, another truck pulled up. Four men jumped out. They hurried up the sidewalk, two of them struggling with a metal box. The box had two handles and was top-latched in four places. Kaminsky reappeared and met them at the front door. After a short conference, the group moved inside.
Sam checked the positions of the others again. Alex had not been part of the team to go inside. Why?
Sam’s heart beat double time. He could see no evidence of O’Brien’s team. They were staying well hidden. Walking around to the back, he checked that Marshall was in place, watching for intruders from the mall side.
His team had instructions to not intercept anyone unless they walked directly up to the building. If that happened, they were to advise the individual that a security test was being conducted by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
Hopefully, that would scare off anyone who might have only a passing interest. However, a problem would arise if anyone happened by from the college faculty. Sam didn’t want anyone hurt.
Sam looked at his watch. Seven minutes had passed since the insert team had moved inside. Kaminsky had assured Oliver that he would be able to get into the lab and knew what to do to get the material out of the grammator.
The cesium-137 was in a powdered form, according to Kaminsky. It should be easy and quick to move.
Sam rounded the front of the building. Oliver’s Jeep remained parked across the street, motor running. He walked over to the Jeep to check on Alex. When he leaned down, Oliver opened the window. Alex sat in the back seat’, saying nothing. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked out the back window.
Oliver kept his eyes glued to the building. He had a radio with an earpiece and talked to the professor in hushed tones.
“Guards are in place,” Sam whispered. “Everything’s going according to plan.”
As if on cue, things began to deteriorate. A heavy-set man in a uniform walked down the sidewalk on the other side of the street.
Sam whispered, “Security.”
The security officer turned up the walk toward the science building and stood about fifteen feet from the tree where Randy had stationed himself. Looking around, he stared at the Jeep.
Sam held his breath. He wanted to yell, “Christ, Randy, stay behind the tree!” The security guard looked up at the building, then over at their vehicle again. He lumbered across the street toward Sam, his partially open jacket covering a large belly.
“Good evening.” He held out his hand to Sam. “George Case. I coordinate security at the college. May I help you?”
Sam shook his hand. “I’m waiting for my daughter. She’s supposed to meet me here at eleven o’clock, but you know women.” That sounded weak, but it was the only thing Sam could think of on short notice. The NRC test gimmick wouldn’t work with security.
“Do I ever.” Case laughed. “I’ve got three daughters myself and spend half my life waiting for them. They’re great kids but once in a while a real pain in the butt.”
The team came running out of the science building.
Kaminsky waddled behind the other four men, two of them carrying the metal box.
Case looked up and saw the group. “What the hell?” He reached down for his weapon.
Lieutenant Patrick keyed his mic. “Deploy SWAT teams. Alpha six, bring your unit into town. Put four men at each roadblock. Split the rest on either side of the campus.”
He switched the radio to intercom. “The National Guard is about four miles away and moving toward us. With police escort, they should be here in about five minutes.”
O’Brien flexed his arms and took deep breaths. “Use them to form a firewall between the science building and the center of town. We’ve got to protect the students.”
“I’ll tell our trooper to lead the truck into the north side of town. We’ll place them up where the bars are. Keep the kids inside.”
O’Brien worried that he was missing something. “Get some of your officers to go to the local places. We need to follow up on the text messaging. Uniforms should help. Everyone stays inside.”
“Roger,” Patrick replied. “One of my officers said the science building is dark. We should be okay as long as no one wanders down there.”
O’Brien located three of Oliver’s four vehicles in front of the science building. Then O’Brien saw flashes from a weapon.
“Get that SWAT team in place—now.”
A flash, then a pop, and Case fell to the ground, clutching his chest.
Oliver pulled his revolver back inside the vehicle. “Out of the way.”
Sam jumped back. The right rear fender brushed him as Rose pulled the Jeep out from the curb. The Jeep careened down the block, turning a sharp right and disappearing.
Kaminsky’s team ran down the sidewalk from the science building. They loaded into the waiting truck. Sam looked through his binoculars. State police cruisers blocked both ends of the street.
Sam ducked between two trees. He stopped at the curb to size up the situation. The militia was surrounded, but what about Marshall? He’ll be scared to death, Sam thought. Kid might do something dumb.
Alex.
Oliver knew things were going wrong. Would the troopers be able to stop the bastard without harming Alex?
The insert team had loaded into the truck. His own team was gathering—ready to leave.
The Jeep fishtailed as Specialist Rose pulled out from the curb.
Alex spotted the state police vehicle at the far end of the street at the same time Rose did.
He spun the wheel to the right and turned up an alley.
“Floor it, Rose,” Oliver called. “Beat the roadblocks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about the rest of the team?” Alex called from the back seat.
No reply.
They reached the end of the alley, turning away from the roadblock. Rose swung the wheel to the left and turned up the next alley, the force throwing Alex against the side of the Jeep.
Alex recovered her balance and spotted a police cruiser down the block. Through some stroke of luck, the cruiser must not have seen them.
Rose turned left onto a dark residential street and slowed down. At the end of that block, he turned right into a farm lane, the vehicle slipping on ice. Driving without headlights, Rose slipped the Jeep into four-wheel drive and dodged between two storage buildings. Alex turned around. The town began to disappear behind them.
Alex heard shots, and thought she spotted the helicopter overhead. Well, no way was she going to let Oliver get away. She reached down and pulled her .38 from the holster on her leg.. Placed it against the back of Oliver’s head.
“Time’s up, fellas. Pull this thing over. Stop, or I’ll blow your few brain cells all over the windshield.”
Oliver’s neck stiffened. “That’s not nice, my dear. After all I’ve done for you.”
“Don’t give me that stuff, asshole. Stop this fucking Jeep, or I’ll pull the trigger. I really don’t care if you live or die.”
Rose slammed on the brakes. Without a seatbelt, Alex flew forward. A loud crack resounded in Alex’s ears as the gun discharged. She rammed her head into the back support of the front sea. The bullet tore harmlessly through the roof as the Jeep spun around in the field.
She heard a woman’s scream.. Then was met with silence and darkness.
Sam sprinted across the street in his best infantry crouch, staying low to avoid the bullets ricocheting up and down the street. He ran up the front sidewalk toward the science building. When he turned the corner and paused, he felt the muzzle of a rifle in his back.
“All right, Thorpe. Time’s up. Drop that rifle on the ground. Now.”
Sam recognized the voice. “Be careful with that weapon, Popeye. You’ll hurt someone.”
“That’s the point, asshole. Somebody tipped the cops. I know it was you. Now drop it.”
Sam dropped his M16, and it clattered on the walk. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re a cop, and so is your lady friend with the big boobs.”
Sam glanced around, checking for anything he could use against Popeye. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“I finally remembered where I’d seen the broad. She led the raid on that skinhead meeting in Minneapolis. Should have remembered sooner. You may have broken up this operation, but you won’t get away with it. Turn around.”
Popeye stepped back when Sam pivoted to face him. Popeye had a ski mask over his face, but the white hair and the voice were a dead giveaway.
“Stand right there. Move, and you’re dead.”
Sam knew he’d be dead anyway. He looked left, then right. There was a hemlock to his left. Could he dive for it? No, he’d never make it. The gunfire and yelling in the street became deafening. Could he use the flashes from the weapons as a diversion? No, he had no control over them.
“Goodbye, asshole.”
Sam ducked down to do a cross body block, pushing the rifle up in the air. Popeye rolled back, kicked at Sam, and brought the weapon down over Sam’s head. Pain seared in Sam as he grabbed for Popeye’s leg. In a surprising display of speed, Popeye jumped back. The rifle pointed at Sam’s face.