by Carson, Gary
Crewcut just sat there smiling.
"Excuse me, sir," the geek said uneasily. "We finished the preliminary inspection."
"Go on," Matthews said, staring at Crewcut.
"It's a fission-fusion gravity bomb," the geek went on. "Soviet design with modifications. Probably in the twenty-megaton range, but it's hard to say for sure." He hesitated, glancing around. "It's armed, sir."
Matthews closed his eyes.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. It's ready to detonate."
"Can you disarm it? Safely?"
"That's going to be tricky, sir." The geek was sweating, uncomfortably aware that he was the center of attention. "In this kind of device, a fission bomb is used to trigger the fusion reaction. The fission initiator appears to be connected to some kind of digital activator controlled by a wireless receiver. A satellite uplink. They've got it rigged for remote detonation and the trigger assembly's booby-trapped with Semtex."
"So they can set it off with a radio signal," Matthews said calmly. "Are you absolutely sure about that? There's no mistake?"
"That's what it looks like, sir."
"Anytime they want, Matthews." Crewcut showed him some teeth. "It could go off right now. An hour from now. Get the picture?"
Matthews' guys stirred around us. Everybody was looking over at the table, trying to hear the conversation. The thugs standing guard over the prisoners glanced at each other nervously and a couple suits pulled out their cell phones and started making discrete calls. They were probably warning their families to get out of the city. I saw one of them back away from the table, then turn and walk into the stacks, heading for the exit. Finding the bomb was one thing, but waiting around for it to explode was something else. I looked over at Arn and Brown, braced to take off running the minute we got the chance.
"We're going to need more equipment," the geek went on, "and we should evacuate the warehouse before we start working. There's a lot of integrated circuitry and we don't dare cut any of the wires until we know what they're for. The Semtex could explode if we're not careful."
"Can that set off the bomb?" Matthews asked.
"Normally, no, but if the booby-trap's some kind of backup system, we could trip the initiator by accident." The geek swallowed hard. "I think it would be better to move the entire device to a safe location before we do anything at all."
"I wouldn't advise that," Crewcut said.
"Shut the hell up." Matthews turned back to his expert. At least, I hoped he was an expert. "Can it be safely transported?"
"We don't know yet, sir."
"What about radioactivity?"
"Acceptable. Just above background levels. The casing's been hardened, but we'll have to take precautions against accidental exposure when we open it up. We're going to need full radiation gear and we should get some advisors from DOE to assist if we're going to work on it here." His eyes flickered. "We're not ready for this, sir. I mean, no one knew what to expect."
"I know." Matthews' face darkened. "We'll deal with it."
"There's nothing you can do, Matthews." Crewcut looked almost sympathetic. "It'll take hours to get everything you need and they'll transmit the signal if you drag this out much longer. They'll detonate if you try to move it as well. It's fitted with GPS and the activator's a black box. I don't even know the trigger frequency. If you try to use a full-spectrum jammer to block incoming transmissions, you'll set it off yourself."
Matthews ignored him. "Get with the DOE," he told the geek. "And call the Pentagon. Tell them we need immediate onsite consultation. Immediate. We'll set up a video link so they can look at it right away." He pointed at a couple suits standing next to the table. "Start arranging for transport and reinforcements. If we have to move it, we're going to need heavy-lifting equipment and we need more transport for the prisoners. And get with the locals. We need to evacuate and barricade the entire area." He turned to the guard in the body armor. "What is it?"
"Sir, we pulled in the watch and roof sentries to assist in the search. There's no one on the gate right now. Everybody's inside the warehouse, sir."
"Couldn't be helped," Matthews said, looking around. "Do we have everyone?"
"I think so, sir, but there's a million hiding places with all this cargo. If they're back there, they're keeping quiet." The guard glanced over at the bomb. "Should I get someone back on the perimeter? The lot's wide open."
"No," Matthews said. "I need you here. Find Osbourne and tell him to report. I'll send him with a couple men to watch the gate. We'll reinforce them as soon as we finish the search."
Matthews didn't have enough men to search the place, keep an eye on the prisoners and guard the warehouse at the same time. The goons around us had gone back to searching their captives, prodding them with their boots and yelling at them to lie still and shut their holes or they'd blow their heads off and all that crap. Some guy with a headset mike slouched against the wall by the office, keeping an eye on Crewcut, and one of the gum-chewing lugs stood guard on the three of us with his shotgun. Then a couple gorillas walked over and hustled us out of the way.
"Get your hands off me!" I yelled.
Twisting around, I tried to make a break for it, but I didn't get very far. One of them grabbed my arm before I could take off running and they made us all line up against the wall.
"Emma." Matthews focused on me for the first time. "I thought we'd never catch up with you again."
"Screw off, asshole!"
He gave me a vague smile. "You should have taken my offer when you had the chance. Now I don't have any choice but to turn you over to the Task Force for prosecution." He signaled to one of his men and then turned back to me. "The police have been running all over the city looking for you. So have your employers. I don't think they're too happy with either of us right now."
A thug in a dripping poncho walked up with a walkie-talkie in his hand and an assault rifle strapped over his shoulder. He looked seriously freaked out. Couldn't take his eyes off the bomb.
"Two on the gate," Matthews told him. "And get a team walking the perimeter." He checked his watch. "Someone might've reported the gunfire. If the police show up, give me a call and keep them outside the gate. We're sealing the warehouse and its contents under federal jurisdiction."
"What if they get noisy?"
"Just give me a call." Matthews shrugged. "I'll get it sorted out."
"Sure you will," Crewcut said.
Matthews flushed. He started to respond, but he got distracted when one of his goons ran out of the stacks, pointing at the dock and yelling something about cars in the parking lot. It was hard to hear him over the noise, but the guy with the headset traded looks with our guard and they moved closer to the table, checking their guns.
"Now what?" Arn said.
The goon ran up to Matthews, out of breath, gripping his shotgun in both hands.
"We've got company," he said. "There's four cargo vans and a tow truck in the lot. Truck's from the Nite-N-Day. I saw the markings. I don't know when they got here, but they're on the grounds somewhere. The vehicles were all empty."
"Deacon's bunch?" Matthews stared at him in disbelief.
"They must've followed the girl from Berkeley."
"That's impossible." Matthews looked rattled. "They couldn't have seen Oliver's van leave."
"Maybe they spotted them on the street."
Crewcut laughed, settling back in his chair.
"You're over your head in Ops," he said. "I tried to tell them, but they just wouldn't listen."
"Shut up." Matthews started yelling at his men. "Search the lot! Now! Find them and take them into custody. And close the fucking gate before we get the whole city in here."
"Always secure your perimeter," Crewcut said. "Didn't they tell you that at Stanford?"
"Get them back in the office." Matthews pulled his gun and pointed at us with his free hand. "And secure the documents. Now!" He turned and ran past the Lexus, heading for th
e dock. "The rest of you watch the prisoners. Move! Move! Don't let anybody near the bomb!"
But it was too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Matthews was still running around, shouting orders, when twenty or thirty locos swarmed out of the stacks with shotguns, baseball bats and machetes, yelling like maniacs and knocking over boxes and crap. They must've come in through the dock while Matthews' guys were busy searching the back of the warehouse and guarding the prisoners.
The locos belonged to Heberto's crew, but I saw Dwayne, Deacon's mechanic, and Miguel, his part-time guy, run out of the stacks carrying Mossberg pumps and stop dead in their tracks, gaping at the bomb and Matthews' goons and the prisoners lying on the floor. Castel and a dozen greasers with handguns and knives came out behind us, on the other side of the Lexus, but they jumped behind some crates when they saw the crowd around the office, yelling back and forth in Spanish. Matthews had screwed up big time. When he tailed us back to Oakland, he never realized he had company. It was hard to believe, but Deacon and Heberto must've spotted us getting into Crewcut's van in that alley after we got snatched coming out of Yah Joe. I remembered seeing Deacon's tow truck go by and there must've been locos all over the place. They'd followed us to the warehouse and Matthews missed them completely. So did Crewcut. Maybe they were preoccupied or never saw them on the dark streets in the rain.
Deacon and Heberto weren't exactly rocket scientists, but they could be pretty sneaky. I never found out what they thought was going on, but they probably figured I was selling them out to some other gang looking to take over their territory. It had to be something like that or they wouldn't have called in all their scuzzballs. What a joke. They never expected to barge in on a mob of armed feds guarding an atom bomb.
"FBI!" Matthews shouted, waving his fake ID. "Put down your weapons! You're under arrest!"
That was a laugh. Everybody was yelling and pumping their shotguns, trying to get out of the line of fire in this massive standoff with thirty or forty guys. Heberto's crew was all around us. They hunkered down in the stacks, hiding behind crates and anything they could find, shouting at each other and scrambling for better cover. The aisles running through the stacks were kind of dark and it was hard to see anybody back in the shadows.
"Where'd they come from?" Brown looked stunned.
We were sitting ducks, completely exposed under the lights. Matthews' team was caught in the middle of the open space in front of the office and the only cover was the table, the Lexus and the bomb. They forgot about their prisoners and bunched up together with their guns pointing in every direction while Crewcut's goons started crawling around, trying to get away in all the confusion. A couple fights broke out, spooks wrestling with spooks while Matthews shouted at everyone to surrender. I saw Baldy jump to his feet and deck some guy with a single blow, running off with his machine gun.
"Fuck this!" Arn yelled.
We ran over to the Lexus and huddled behind the trunk, too freaked out to try the car doors or make a break for the exits. I was panting. Arn had turned bug-eyed and pale. We were still in the open, exposed to all the cross-fire if somebody went nuts, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. Matthews had blown it, just like Crewcut, losing control in a matter of seconds. Our guards had vanished, running into the stacks. I thought I saw one of them crouching behind a pillar.
Matthews moved away from the table, digging around for something in his pocket. His team had crowded together about ten feet away from us, yelling at each other and trying to cover the stacks with their guns. Crewcut was hiding under the table and a couple guys had ducked into the office, where they peered around the edge of the door. Nobody paid any attention as Brown crawled over to the Lexus, dragging the briefcase and suitcase as he squirmed across the floor. The lunatic had grabbed them off the table when nobody was looking.
"This is the FBI!" Matthews shouted, turning around in circles with his ID in the air. "Lay down your weapons and surrender! Do it now!"
"Joda a su madre! Cara de pito!"
"We got you surrounded, capullo. Why don't you fucking surrender?"
Heberto's crew laughed and yelled all around us and I didn't like the sound of their voices. They'd grown up fighting turf wars in Third World slums full of death squads and corrupt policia. They weren't scared of cops or jail and nobody knew what they were going to do from one minute to the next because they didn't know themselves. As far as they were concerned, Matthews was just another gringo cop with a big mouth and a badge out of a cereal box, a paddy burocrata just begging to get carved up and fed to the dogs. They hooted at him and laughed at his cornered agents shouting like a bunch of frightened putas. Somebody found a tin can and bounced it off his head.
"Parada!" a familiar voice yelled. "Parada!"
Deacon and Heberto walked out of the stacks and stopped a couple feet from Matthews, shouting at the locos to keep it down and hold their fire. Deacon was carrying a double-barrel shotgun and he looked wet and confused, his gut bulging under a flowered shirt. Heberto came off relaxed, pointing a revolver at the rafters and calling to his men in Spanish. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with an armpit shoulder holster, and he put away his gun when things started to calm down. The yelling died to a murmur and the warehouse got so quiet I could hear the rain beating on the roof and trickling through the gutters. A foghorn sounded in the harbor.
"What is this?" Deacon asked. "Who the hell are you?"
"Matthews. FBI." Matthews gave him his ID. "Tell your men to put down their weapons and withdraw before this gets out of hand."
"Look around you," Heberto said. "You are in no position to make demands."
"We have a crisis situation here." Matthews was sweating bullets. "You're interfering with federal law enforcement and I'm telling you to lay down your weapons and withdraw."
"Bullshit." Heberto frowned at the bomb. "What is that thing?"
"It's a bomb," Matthews said. "It could go off at any time. Tell your men to withdraw. Your lives are in danger. The whole city's in danger."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Deacon looked worried, turning the ID over in his hands, then passing it to Heberto. "We thought you was somebody else." He looked over at the bomb, his eyes narrowing. "What kind of bomb?"
"There's no time to explain," Matthews said desperately. "Listen, I know who you are, but I'm not interested in you or your activities and I don't care why you're here. That's not my jurisdiction. Tell them to lay down their weapons and withdraw and we can resolve this without a lot of pointless bloodshed. Just walk away and that's the end of it."
"Not so fast." Deacon looked over at the Lexus. "We came for the car and the rat who took it. There's some cops who want them back and we ain't leaving without them."
"Oakland cops?" Matthews shook his head. "If you're talking about the Latham corruption scandal, your source for that story is an informer working for a Customs task force investigating your organization."
Deacon blinked at him. "Say what?"
"Just walk away. There's no time to argue about this."
"We are screwed, socio." Heberto turned to Deacon, shaking his head. "Leave the car to the pigs. Me vale or me vale madre." He nodded at the bomb. "There is some kind of dirty business here."
"There she is." Deacon had spotted me cowering by the Lexus. "I took you in, you piece of shit. I treated you like my own daughter. I bailed you out when you didn't have crap and you tried to screw me like it never happened."
"What?" I yelled back. "What did I do?"
"Forget it, my friend." Heberto clutched Deacon's arm. "We'll take care of that later."
"Take care of what?" I jumped to my feet, the lights blurring. "You think I'm a rat?" I had tunnel vision. All I could see was Deacon's flushed and bloated face, his jowls and piggy eyes. "Who told you that? Jacobo? I told you it was Jacobo all along, you stupid jackoff. I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen to me you had your head rammed so far up your fat ass."
"
You're dead," he yelled, so furious he'd forgotten everything around him. "I'm gonna finish this right now."
He lurched forward, raising his gun, and chambers clattered all around us. Heberto jumped in front of him and grabbed his wrist.
"No, companero. No!"
"This ain't over," Deacon ranted at me. "I'm gonna rip your guts out and feed them to my cats."
"Screw you!"
I lost it, I guess. Didn't know what I was doing. I started at him, but Matthews blocked my way, pointing his gun at my head.
"Stop right there, Emma."
"What's the matter with you?" Arn grabbed my arm. "Look where we are, you moron."
He dragged me back to the car while Heberto got his partner under control, stepping between us and putting his arm around Deacon's shoulder. Matthews was really sweating now. He was about to say something when he got interrupted by a squawl of static that echoed through the warehouse.
"FREEZE," a huge voice yelled over a bullhorn. "THIS IS THE POLICE. DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Spotlights kicked on all around us, beams of harsh light flooding the space in front of the office. Between the spotlights and the arc lights around the bomb, I couldn't see jack for a couple of seconds.
"THIS IS THE POLICE. WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED."
I had to laugh. Matthews had invaded the warehouse, then Deacon and Heberto had come barging in, and now a million cops were raiding the place. They were probably with that Task Force – the same bunch who'd questioned me at the Emeryville station. They must've followed Deacon to Oakland and now all these cops and spooks were colliding with each other like one of those multiple-car pileups on the highway.
The Task Force showed up late, but they made a grand entrance. Once they got their SWAT team together and surrounded the warehouse, they moved in from all sides, nice and quiet, hiding in the stacks and blocking the exits. Then they hit us with the bullhorn and spotlights. The morons probably thought they were raiding some kind of smuggling deal or a big heroin sale and they must've crapped their pants when they saw the bomb.