Tin Man

by Dale Brown

status until just prior to departure."

  "Very good," Townsend said. "Keep me advised.

  Have you been able to get me confirmation on McLanahan's

  death? Is it accurate that he was killed by

  a Satan's Brotherhood member in the Sacramento

  County jail?"

  "It is accurate, Herr Oberst. It has been confirmed

  . The county coroner pronounced him dead

  this morning, and a state justice-department official

  also examined the body as well."

  "But not an independent report? I had hoped for

  word from an outside source, Major," Townsend

  said. "Well, we cannot spare the manpower or risk

  discovery. But it does not seem he was an important

  factor in any case-without the suit, simply another

  desk-bound engineer."

  "I do not understand why we are wasting any

  time with Masters and his suit, sir," Reingruber

  said. "It is not essential to our purposes."

  "Because it represents another profit opportunity

  for us," Townsend said. "You need not worry, Major

  . It will not interfere with our timetable. Masters

  and his contraption are distractions; at best, the suit

  will prove to be useful. Your task is to keep careful

  watch on the targets and advise me as soon as they

  are ready.?/

  COUNTY MORGUE,

  SACRAMENTO COUNTY CORONER'S OFFICE,

  STOCKTON BOULEVARD AND BROADWAY,

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  THE SAME TIME

  Welcome to hell, General."

  Patrick McLanahan opened his eyes, blinking

  through the pain. He saw Hal Briggs's face beaming

  at him. "Where am I?"

  "Dead," Briggs replied. "How do you feel?"

  "Dead." Patrick touched his face gingerly and

  winced at his broken nose. Briggs helped him sit up

  on the table. "What happened?"

  "What happened was either the most elaborate

  ruse ever created, or the strangest set of circumstances

  I've ever witnessed, General," said another

  voice. Patrick was startled to see Sacramento Police

  Chief Arthur Barona standing next to him. "I'm still

  trying to make up my mind which is which."

  "You're at the county morgue, Patrick," Briggs

  said. "We set the whole thing up after we listened to

  your wiretap tapes and heard Captain Chandler

  talking to Gregory Townsend-that British guy who

  confronted you . . ."

  "Townsend got to Chandler?" Patrick said.

  "Looks like it. He found out about Chandler's

  gambling debts, and he got Chandler to grab Jon

  Masters and the suit. No one's seen Masters since

  he was released from jail yesterday morning. He

  never met his assigned driver."

  "Police security cameras photographed him getting

  into a car," Barona added. "We couldn't identify

  the driver or the passenger in the car, but we

  think it must have been Chandler-we haven't been

  able to contact him. I notified your legal team of Dr.

  Masters's disappearance, and they contacted your

  guys Briggs and Wohl at the facility out at the airport

  ." He looked at Briggs and Wohl suspiciously

  and said icily, "Colonel Briggs then told me of his

  plan to spring you from the jail."

  Patrick looked at Briggs, who grinned. "Hey, nobody

  tries to frame my friends. What we decided

  was to give the chief your wiretap tapes. Then we

  let him know of my plan, and he got the sheriff on

  board. We had Sergeant Wohl dress up as a bikerhow'd

  you like those tattoos?-and we planted him

  on your floor to 'kill' you.

  Patrick felt his nose again. "Good job, Chris. Very

  realistic."

  "My pleasure, sir," said Wohl, looking pleased

  with himself.

  "With a little help from some theatrical blood

  and a mild nerve agent that slowed down your

  breathing and heart rate enough to pass you off as

  dead, we got you out of there," Briggs finished up.

  "But Ion's disappeared. If he's in Townsend's hands,

  that's bad news-we've got to find him and Chandler

  ."

  "We can find Townsend," Patrick said. He struggled

  shakily to his feet. "He probably took all of

  Jon's gadgets away from him so we can't use them

  to locate him, but we can use the suit's tracking

  system to locate it. Assuming Jon stays near the

  suit."

  "I still find it hard to believe any of this," Barona

  said. "The suit Jon Masters created makes the

  wearer almost invulnerable. He's part of your team.

  Why would he go off with it to a guy like Townsend

  , who's got some kind of secret organization?

  He's a madman-he was associated with Henri

  Cazaux. And if it's his operation that's attacking the

  city and the motorcycle gangs, for what purpose?

  What's he up to?"

  "We don't know yet," said McLanahan. "I was

  told that Townsend and his so-called Aryan Brigade

  are not what they appear to be, but my informant

  died before he could tell me more than that. He's a

  dangerous bastard. It's urgent to locate Jon; that's

  where we'll find Townsend. Hal, I need one of your

  Pave Hammer tilt-rotors out at McClellan. What's

  their maintenance status?"

  "They haven't started yet," Hal said. "They're

  just finishing work on the F-1 17 Night Hawk

  stealth fighters out there. Whatever you need, you

  got.//

  "I want one MV-22, armed and ready to fly," McLanahan

  said. "I'll mount a locator unit to find the

  suit. Once we pinpoint it, we'll send a Skywalker

  reconnaissance drone overhead to scope out the

  hideout, then hit it."

  "Hold it, hold it!" said Barona. "What are you

  jokers talking about? First of all, McLanahan, you're

  not going anywhere, especially not on some secret

  armed aircraft. If you disappear, my ass is in deep

  trouble. Second, I can't allow you to use any of

  these men, these commandos, to stage an operation

  in the state of California without coordination and

  permission of the proper authorities. Third . . ."

  "You can stop right there," McLanahan said. "In

  case you haven't figured it out yet, Chief, we're in

  charge of this operation, and we're going to do whatever

  it takes to get our friend back, and that suit. If

  you continue to tell us what we can't do, we'll be

  happy to lock you in a nice cozy room in some undisclosed

  location until we're finished. Or, you can

  cooperate."

  "Don't you dare threaten me, mister," Barona

  said. "I'm risking my career to help you. But I can't

  stand by and watch you take the law into your own

  hands."

  Patrick considered it for a moment; then: "All

  right, Chief. We'll cooperate as much as possible.

  Tell us what you want us to do. But you need to

  know I will not allow anything or anybody to get in

  the way of this rescue. That's firm."

  Barona nodded. He spelled out what McLanahan

  needed to do so that this could look like an officially
<
br />   sanctioned joint law-enforcement operation.

  Then they all went on the phones to the various

  agencies, sometimes literally begging for cooperation

  and clearance. Patrick hung tough, and eventually

  they got what they needed.

  "One more thing, McLanahan, and all of you,"

  Barona said sternly. "I need results, and I need them

  right away. My ass is already on the line for you. We

  could have prevented all this if you'd brought me

  the wiretaps on Chandler earlier. I'm going to have

  to explain not only why McLanahan is not in jail,

  but why he's not dead as well. I'm going to give you

  twenty-four hours to wrap this caper up, and then

  I'm going to the district attorney and attorney general

  , tell my story, and let the chips fall where they

  may. If that's the way I end up, I guarantee you I'll

  do everything in my power to fry you all. I'll come

  away with an embarrassing bloody nose for trying

  to cooperate with you-but you: You'll all be in

  prison."

  RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT FACILITY,

  SACRAMENTO -MATHER JETPORT,

  RANCHO CORDOVA, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, 2 APRIL 1998, 0649 PT

  Those brutal sons of bitches, Tom Chandler

  hought. This he'd never anticipated. Someone

  needed to teach those assholes a lesson.

  When Chandler had heard that some woma I n was

  here to see Jon Masters, he figured it was his wife or

  girlfriend. He'd make up an excuse, maybe flash his

  badge, and send her on her way. When it turned out

  she was a high-ranking company officer, he shifted

  gears: She might prove useful for putting the pressure

  on, make a pretty good hostage, someone to

  help guarantee their safety until they made their escape

  . But Townsend's men had different plans for

  her, once they too learned she was the corporate

  vice president, and they notified Townsend in Newcastle

  .

  Chandler had listened to the sounds of Kaddiri's

  cries echoing through his closed door from the

  chief-engineer's room across the corridor until he

  could stand it no longer. He was barred from the

  scene, but it took no imagination to work out what

  was going on. He broke communications silence,

  picked up the telephone, and called the Newcastle

  number.

  "Hey, Townsend, I am not going to be your goddamn

  wet nurse for another day." He was calling

  from Patrick McLanahan's office. Outside the office

  , several of Townsend's people were hunting

  through the computer files at the workstations. But

  the heavy-duty work was going on in the office opposite

  , where two of the soldiers were busy working

  not on computer workstations, but on Helen Kaddiri.

  When Townsend learned that the woman Chandler

  had captured was the company's vice president-that

  this was the organization that had

  developed the astounding weaponproof suit-he had

  given orders to postpone the evacuation of the

  R D center. If threats, torture, or bribes succeeded

  in pressuring Kaddiri to unlock the company's extensive

  computer files, he would have access via the

  Internet to thousands of companies and government

  agencies all over the world. One password from

  Kaddiri-that was all it would take-to open many

  of the West's most critical engineering and research

  files: data on weapons, aircraft, new designs in the

  pipeline, intelligence information. And there it

  would be, at Gregory Townsend's fingertips.

  keep this up," Chandler warned. "For Christ's sake,

  "Your soldiers are going to kill Kaddiri if they

  pull them out of there."

  Townsend was furious. "You are not in charge,

  Chandler. I am! I must have access to those cornputer

  files before we evacuate. I need access long

  enough to change the password or enter in my own

  back-door password."

  "We can't wait. This is Masters and McLanahan's

  company. Look at the charges against them! I can

  hold off the sheriff's department and DA investigators

  only so long," Chandler warned. "In case

  you've forgotten, I'm out of my jurisdiction. What

  do we do when more investigators show up? And

  Masters has government military contracts herewe're

  likely to have the FBI and the Defense Investigation

  Service here any minute."

  "Then I'll turn Kaddiri over to you. You get

  across to her the grave situation she's in. You get

  her to cooperate. Tell her anything you want, but

  get that password."

  "You're going to kill her anyway, aren't you?"

  Chandler asked.

  "Once I have what I want,'Kaddiri is free to

  leave," said Townsend. "I prefer not to kill women,

  but I will do anything necessary to protect my organization

  . Now go!"

  Chandler slammed down the receiver. Bullshit,

  he thought. Kaddiri was going to die-and probably

  so was he-the second they got access to those files.

  In fact, Kaddiri was far more valuable to Townsend

  than he was. He had twenty thousand dollars waiting

  for him in a Cayman Islands bank account-not

  nearly enough. For another hundred thousand it had

  seemed worth the tricky effort of keeping the DA

  and the sheriff's department out of the facility, but

  now that he'd actually seen Townsend in action, he

  realized he wasn't likely to live to get his hands on

  the money. Past time to get the hell out.

  He dialed the number for the Sacramento office

  of the FBI. It rang once, then a voice with a German

  accent came on the line: "Who are you trying to

  call?" He slammed down the receiver. Shit! Townsend's

  men were monitoring all phone calls from the

  security office. His life span was even shorter than

  he expected. He had to get a message out to somebody

  , fast!

  Looking at the phone at McLanahan's desk,

  Chandler saw a button marked wENDY vm. He picked

  up the phone and hit the button. It was a direct

  computerized link to Wendy McLanahan's voicemail

  system-it could not be intercepted or cut off

  by the security office. He spoke fast into the recording

  . "This is Tom Chandler. I'm at the Sky Masters

  research facility at Mather jetport. Townsend's men

  are trying to break into the company's computers.

  You'd better get someone out here, right now, or

  Helen Kaddiri is dead. There are twelve of Townsend's

  men here. They're

  The office door burst open. "You!" shouted a

  German soldier. "Stop! Hang up that telephone immediately

  ! Orders from Oberst Townsend! He

  complied. There was a submachine gun pressed

  against his face.

  Time had just about run out.

  MOUNT VERNON ROAD,

  NEWCASTLE, CALIFORNIA

  THE SAME TIME

  Townsend hung up the phone after speaking with

  his lieutenant in charge at the Mather site. Sure

  enough, Chandler had tried
to call someone right

  after he got off the phone with him. He ordered the

  lieutenant to cut off all communications from the R

  D facility except for secure radio communications

  , and to place Chandler under arrest. He had

  outlived his usefulness. He would dispose of him

  before long.

  It was just about time to complete the final phase

  of this operation and get out of the area.

  He went into the mess hall. Reingruber was waiting

  for him, ready to give a report, and Richard

  Faulkner came over and sat down. "How are you

  progressing, Faulkner?" Townsend asked. "We need

  to be able to operate that suit now."

  "Not quite yet, Colonel," Faulkner replied. "But

  Masters is falling into line very well. I think he is

  cooperating fully."

  Reingruber agreed. "It does appear that he has

  turned into a proper little soldier, sir."

  "Small doses of you and large doses of me do

  seem to be working," Townsend said. "But it is going

  much too slowly. I want a demonstration outdoors

  in two hours, Major. If Masters is not ready,

  you will ask the reason for the delay-forcefufly

  ask. Then I will pull you out before he turns into a

  blubbering infant. That will put the pressure on.

  That suit must be working for us before the final

  phase of our plan is put into motion. Get in there

  now, Faulkner."

  After Faulkner left, Reingruber warned Townsend

  : "We may be running short on time, sir. Our

  informants tell us that the targets are entering final

  inspections prior to buttoning up. Sign-offs could be

  completed by this afternoon or tomorrow morning.

  The targets could be ready to depart within twentyfour

  to thirty-six hours."

  "No better estimates than that, Herr Major?"

  "I am sorry, sir," said Reingruber. "Security is

  still very tight, especially with the National Guard

  troops. The normal security forces appear to be deployed

  the same, but the forces outside the target

  area have increased."

  "Very well then, we will put the Phase Three

  contingency plan into action at once. Assemble

  your men, Major. H-hour will be at zero two hundred

  hours local time. Instruct your men at the Sky

  Masters research facility to start confiscating all the

  materials they can carry and rendezvous with us

  here immediately. Have them bring Kaddiri with

  them-and execute Chandler just before they depart