by Ed Hurst
There was a snack bar on the far side of the park, and he met Terrell there. Kosher dogs were something Michael had missed, and rather enjoyed his lunch. They ate in silence, watching the other model aircraft. “Finished?” Terrell asked.
“Sure.” Before he could say anything else, Terrell was half way to his car in the parking lot. Michael followed him, but kept going a few spaces away where his truck sat. He had opened the back door, and was climbing in when he found Terrell on his heels. Michael sat on the bed, while Terrell took the desk seat. He had donned rubber gloves. Michael handed down the package from an overhead compartment. Terrell produced yet another gadget from his pocket. Michael realized it looked rather like an electronic bug sweeper, but with a much shorter antenna.
After passing it around all sides of the package, Terrell said, “Tsk, tsk. Naughty boys. Something in here is not the kind of electronics I ordered.” He opened the outer packing, checked each of the small boxes inside and then opened one. Removing the bubble-wrapped contents, he passed the device over the little empty box, hesitating at one spot. Then he set it down, took out a knife and sliced the cardboard. After he peeled the layers apart, a flat, plastic chip fell out. It was no thicker than a guitar pick, but had electronic tracings clearly visible on both faces. Terrell grinned and left the camper.
Michael followed wordlessly, watching.
Terrell produced a rather smaller glider from the back seat of his car. It was little more than a stick and some flat pieces for the flight surfaces. There was no paint, but on the nose was a lump of clay. Terrell pressed the electronic chip deep into the clay. Then he stood for a while, watching the flying models. The sun had come out strong about mid-morning, and it was a bit warmer. Grinning, Terrell began walking rather quickly out into the dunes with Michael struggling to keep up.
After about a quarter-mile, Terrell stopped on the crest of one dune, looking out across a rather wide flat spot, where there was a good bit of dark flat rock poking out of the sand. He measured it with his eyes. Turning to Michael, he said, “Updraft. It’s just about the right size.”
The breeze had slacked off at the ground level, but a few of the other models seemed to hit a drift if they went very high. Terrell walked just a few yards past the bottom of the dune, scanned the wide, rocky bowl, then drew back and launched the small glider with terrific force. It climbed straight up, then banked and did a few dips, coming to rest a few yards from Terrell. He ran to pick it up. As he walked back, he was pinching the blob of clay on the nose, and appeared to remove a little, applying it to one wing tip. Then he launched again. This time, the craft climbed in a rather flat circle pattern, just inside the ring of dunes around the rocky outcroppings. It continued to circle, climbing slowly. Terrell rejoined Michael, still atop the dune. As they watched, it eventually caught the breeze aloft, and drifted with each circle, still climbing. After some twenty minutes, it was too high and too far windward to see.
Terrell was still staring after it. “That chip was similar to the ones our government would like for all of us to wear under our skins. They sit quietly until hit by a transmission with the proper frequency and encoding. If that transmitter has a reader, too, at the right distance, it will get a response from the chip. Usually it’s a long string of code, representing some sort of identification. That ID is matched to an existing database. However, this chip was more complicated. By waving the detector close to it, I got a very weak response, so no one else could pick it up. It would send a response signal matching the strength of the query. With a capacity to invest just a bit of extra power briefly to a long range query, it would at least report its position pretty well. Once a strong signal comes closer, it would also send more kinds of information, not just an ID string. Somebody will be disappointed when they find their chip somewhere far out in the desert, stuck on a glider you can buy all over the world. And without any fingerprints,” he held up a gloved hand. “I was expecting this.”
Chapter 25
The aircraft would be delivered to an address in Stockton. The pickup date would allow Michael to get them on the way back from meeting Burk at the orchard. Michael was glad to have the camper, because he didn’t feature spending money on a motel if Burk wasn’t there. He wasn’t. Michael decided to stay the night in the orchard.
The orchard was not deserted. There were a few pup tents clustered around a campfire. It was colder up this way, but someone used to it might do fine. Michael took a chance after his cold breakfast and approached the cluster of widely varying fabric accommodations. An older man sitting by the fire looked up, and smiled, “Nice rig.”
“Thanks. I had it built to order in Mexico,” Michael explained. “I’m looking for someone.” He went on to describe Burk, and the man grinned.
“Yeah, know `im. Said to tell you he was staying with Mama for awhile.” He looked up with a sort of question on his face.
“Ahhhh.” Michael smiled, and stared into the fire a moment. Then, breathing in deeply, “Okay, thanks. I better move on, because I really need to talk to him.”
“Got any spare coffee?” the old man asked, hopefully.
“Just a jar of instant.”
“Better’n nuttin’.”
Michael left the man a half empty jar of instant coffee and made his way toward the crossing where the cafe and tire shop stood, up in the national forest. No sooner had he left the valley floor, he was seeing snow. Patches at first, then large banks, and finally a good pack of it was visible on side roads as he climbed to higher elevations. He was still wondering what he’d say an hour later as he saw the place appear around a curve. Pulling into the cafe, he got out and hurried inside. At this higher elevation it was quite cold. There was a strong smell of wood-burning fireplaces on the wind.
As he stepped into the cafe, he was greeted by Mama. She apparently didn’t recognize him. “What could I get you, honey?”
He smiled, “A cup of your fantastic coffee and your son.”
Her cheery expression became rather serious. “My only son was killed in Iraq. However, I won’t have trouble with the coffee.”
“Wait,” he said. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. The last time I was here my friend was with me. I don’t know what name he uses here, but he told me to call him Burk. He’s a full head taller than I, much younger, speaks with a soft, raspy voice...”
She was laughing. “Oh, /that/ son!” she interrupted him. “Now I remember you.” Then cocking her head to one side she said, “I like the beard. Come on; he’s in the back.” She turned and stepped through the swinging half-door into the kitchen. There were two Hispanic women bustling around, and the place smelled delicious. Stepping through another doorway into a long stock room, she called out. “Take a break, Son! You have company.”
She turned back into the kitchen, leaving Michael standing. He looked right, then left and spotted Burk, swinging a mop between the racks. The big fellow picked it up and set it into a wheeled mop bucket before looking up. Taking a step forward, his eyes rose to meet Michael’s and he looked surprised. “Michael!” The big kid ran the few steps between them and grabbed Michael in a bear hug.
His grip was gentle, and Michael simply soaked up the moment of fellowship with the one who had become his best friend in the whole world. Mama returned with a tray holding not just coffee, but a thermal pot and plates of food. “Lunch time, boys,” she announced, and led them out onto an insulated walkway between the cafe and a cabin out behind. The walkway was wide enough to accommodate a picnic table, and they were seated facing each other. Michael guessed the passage had once been open sided, perhaps with a roof. At some point later it was walled in with big windows, and a door added halfway up one side.
Chapter 26
During the meal, Burk described his journey. Aside from cold, it was routine travel for him. He left the area immediately as promised, and asked the woman in the barn for directions to the best way out heading north. She sent him to a camp ten miles away. It was empty, but the pa
th leading away to the north was obvious. It climbed a ridge, then down into a valley with railroad tracks. Stopping in some bushes half-way down, he waited. The wait was longer than he liked, and Burk kept looking around, listening for every sound.
The blind side of the curve had trees, and he hustled over to them as soon as he felt the familiar vibration. At first it seemed to be coming too fast, and he feared he’d have to walk a bit more. However, the train began to slow, and was quite a bit longer than he would have expected with two engines. Then he reminded himself the Midwest was much flatter, so it required fewer engines than the mountainous West Coast. He spotted his one best chance. Plunging out of the trees, he charged alongside the low-walled freight car. Tossing his pack over the side, he just managed to catch the step ladder, almost falling. The car was empty, and he didn’t have much time, so laid against the forward wall with his head in the corner. He had long ago picked up a small, plastic hand mirror for the very purpose of peering around the corners of moving trains.
Seeing the signs of entering a town, he simply stayed down and waited. Eventually the train lurched subtly, picking up speed again. He ended up spending the whole day in that one spot, and was getting pretty cramped and cold by nightfall. It was tempting to get off and warm up somewhere, but he decided to take a chance and climb the box car behind him in the darkness. Having seen nothing likely in the cars which passed while he was waiting to jump on, his only hope was farther back. Moving carefully, he passed back to a flat car with a road grader. That was no better, because it had an open cab. Passing more road construction equipment, he stopped. It dawned on him most of it was painted a buff sand color. It was military equipment. Looking quickly to see if any of it had bumper numbers indicating it belonged to a military unit already, he couldn’t find any. Still, it made him extra nervous to think there could be military guards on the load.
Scrambling back to his first place in the low-sided open car, he tried to keep an eye out for the next highway crossing. It wouldn’t be good to stay on this thing when it was unloading, or even idling, inside a military installation. To his delight, he noticed they were slowing as the tracks crossed over what appeared to be an Interstate highway. Risking being seen, he leaned out, clinging to the ladder. First tossing his pack, he then jumped onto the grassy slope rolling down to the highway. He managed to stop about half-way down. Clambering back up to get his pack, he then crawled under the bridge. To his amusement, there were a couple of hobos there already. He shared his food stash, and passed the night warmly in a well-used pocket filled with harvested dry grass.
Dawn showed him just a mile from a truck stop. His associates were headed south, but assured him he could probably catch a truck needing a lumper up at the plaza. About half-way there, he stopped and extracted one of the bills from his stash, then finished the hike. He was reminded how it’s always coldest just before dawn. From the dumpster out back, he fished out a cardboard box. Using his multi-tool, he cut out one large square side. With a piece of chalk he always carried, he made a sign: LUMPER WESTBOUND. He folded it in half and went inside for a hot breakfast. Eating and paying for a meal would help convince the truckers he was no riff-raff looking for trouble.
As it turned out, he had just gotten a good start on pancakes, eggs and sausage, when a trucker walked over to his booth. “Lemme see that sign, boy.” It was the faux tough talk truckers liked to use, softened by a smile. “Westbound, eh? Where you goin’ out there?”
“Gonna go see my mama. She’s in Californy,” Burk mimicked the trucker’s speech pattern somewhat. It was a reflex to cue off another’s accent to reduce tension.
“Well, I got a split load of truck tires for Denver and Salt Lake.” Burk’s heart was warmed, and he remembered to thank God silently. “Think you can get ‘em off pretty quick?”
“You won’t even get a good nap before I’m done,” Burk grinned with self confidence.
“I don’t doubt it, big as you are. I can just about afford to feed you and haul you, but I don’t have much cash. Hope you weren’t looking to get rich. I’m just gettin’ too old to toss them big tires anymore.”
Burk had hardly slowed, eating the big bites typical of him. “All I really need is a ride. I’m glad to help you in the bargain.” He reached out his hand.
The driver shook on it, then told him which truck was his. He went back over to stand by a table with similar-looking men. Burk finished his meal, drained the coffee cup, and made a quick trip to the bathroom. By the time he reached the truck, the driver was already inside, revving the engine. Burk climbed in the passenger side expertly and they were off.
There was the usual road chatter punctuated by long periods of silence or singing with the radio. The tires were no big problem for Burk. As it turned out, the man was dispatched from Salt Lake City to Reno for his next load. The driving and off-loading had taken three days, in part because of bad weather, and delays in getting the receivers to take the loads so close to Christmas. They had chatted about all sorts of things, and the man thanked Burk warmly when they parted company in Reno.
From there, it was two day’s hiking, including a short cut through the woods and one long ride with a ranger who knew him, and Burk was “home” at the cafe. He sent word via the hobo grapevine to direct anyone asking for him to Mama’s.
Chapter 27
The plates had been pushed aside empty, and they were working on the coffee urn. The walkway wasn’t heated, but plenty warm for their fellowship.
“I’m really glad now you made me keep that pistol,” Burk said.
“Really? Why?”
“When I got here, it was pretty late. Mama was just closing up. She let me in the back door here” – he pointed to the door in the side of the walkway – “and I was sitting right at this table. When the ranger dropped me off, he had pulled around the side road and into the drive. With the trees and all, anyone not standing in the back wouldn’t know he had let me out. I had seen a pickup at the tire shop, but didn’t think anything of it. Turns out, they was waiting for Mama’s help to leave. The ladies went out the front door, then she locked it as always, and turned off the lighted sign and the front lights. She counts her till from the light of the kitchen.”
From a slumped-back position against the wall, Burk sat up straight. He continued, demonstrating with his hands, “They pulled up sideways, real close to the door. One jumped out and slammed a big truck tire spoon into the gap between the door and frame, and then another jumped out behind him with a short sledge hammer. He started beating the bar down, and it broke the lock right off. They rushed in with their tools as weapons, and Mama screamed. So I came running to the front, pulling the gun out of my pocket as I went. I crashed through the little swinging door, and they jumped back. I pointed the gun at the nearest one, and both ran right back out the door.” He demonstrated with both hands, and was actually holding the pistol.
“Good man!” Michael applauded briefly.
Burk put the pistol back in his pocket. “Michael, I’m not leaving Mama alone any more. I don’t have any problem with what we did, but I’m staying here. Mama’s husband ran off six years ago, and she’s too old to get another one from around these parts. She has no plans to leave, either. She’s always kept a standing offer to feed and house me in exchange for doing the heavy lifting.” He paused, looking out a window. “The world is getting pretty mean these days.”
Michael set his cup down, and poured a fresh half-cup. “Aside from the progression of the police state, I suspect some of it comes from our adventure. Did you know we killed the entire SWAT Team?” Burk shook his head, his face saddened. “No? I know we had no expectation of being that successful – we weren’t even sure any of the booby traps would work. But that’s not the thing which matters most. That professor was a family member of the Shadow Government.”
Burk raised one eyebrow, and turned back from staring out the window. “So they will be very actively looking for us because of him,” a statement, not a qu
estion.
Michael took another sip, and then poured some coffee in Burk’s empty cup. “I don’t blame you for staying here to help Mama. This may be the best place you could live for the foreseeable future. Nor do I blame you for begging off future missions. I’m having doubts myself about the whole thing. I’m seeing where quite a few folks are copying our work to some degree, but without the precision, the care to avoid hitting the wrong people. More gunfights with police, attacks on cruisers and police facilities, and a few political assassination plots caught just in time. I feel certain it’s something we started, or at least contributed to.”
“It’s going to get uglier either way,” Burk murmured. Looking up suddenly, “I’m betting places like this will go unnoticed until the very last. If the dam breaks because we pricked a hole in it, then it was bound to happen sooner or later. Of course, now I wish I hadn’t gone with you. I don’t like having that much blood on my hands. I’m not a warrior; I can’t pretend I’m Ehud. This place is where God wants me.”
Michael stood up. “Well, I need get back down to Stockton before too late.” He hesitated. “There might be another incident, soon. I’m planning to help another man with something more ambitious. Not more people getting killed, but a big black eye on the Shadow Government. I’m not sure yet what, but whether this works out or not, there won’t be any more for me. I’m pretty sure I know where I belong, too.”
Burk showed a vivid interest. “Where?”
“Ciudad Juarez, at a Baptist mission.”
Burk laughed large, throwing his head back. “I like it! I like it!”
They embraced one last time, then Michael opened the door of the walkway. He turned, “Give my regards to Mama.”
Chapter 28
Michael paid in cash at the hobby warehouse; it was Terrell’s cash, of course. The boxes filled his camper, and there was one in the seat beside him. The warehouse employees were turning the lights off before the roll-up door had closed. As he hit Interstate 5, he had no doubt Terrell had already secured the temporary storage unit. Terrell was meticulous, and seemed to be ready for everything, including another tank of gas. Michael decided to wait until he was back in town to refuel.