by Randy Dutton
After tonight, I’m going to burn these.
Soon the GPS coordinates got her within a few meters of where she had detected Starr’s van parked half a day earlier. She allowed herself a small smirk.
It’s probably one of these three units.
With a rope tied to the base of the closest light stanchion, she lowered her small black backpack, then gripped the line and silently slid down. Out of her bag she removed a small box and flicked a switch.
This cell phone jammer should take care of any silent alarm you may have installed.
Fishing out the key made from the wax impression, she inserted it into each keyhole and turned. The third one rotated fully.
She stopped and listened while watching the dual purpose box that would identify any radio spectrum change from within a 50-meter radius.
Nothing so far.
With a small penlight she closely inspected the ten-foot wide roll-up door. Anna grinned. Down on the lower left edge was a single black hair affixed to the door and jamb.
You’re cautious, I’ll give you that. If I’d have rolled up the door I’d have broken it.
Kneeling, Anna pulled out a razor knife and gently separated the superglued strand from the jamb.
Okay Starr, what other security have you installed?
She lifted the door a finger’s width and stopped. From the black bag she pulled out her iPad. Attached to it was a long flexible fiberoptic infrared camera. She turned on its infrared light, then snaked the pencil-thin optic into the gap, pausing when the small tip cleared the bottom of the door. Slowly twisting the metalized snake changed her view from left to right.
Nothing but a small lock box on the lower right. So, let’s see exactly what you do.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a compressed air can. With the small blast on the ground dust, the IR camera image picked up a reflected twin infrared point-to-point beam.
Raising the door to a hand width, she reached in, then inserted and turned a second hand made key, copied from the previous night.
Another air blast showed the beam to be off.
Two down.
Putting on a head lamp, she lifted the door knee high and rolled in, and then pulled her bag and the jammer through the gap. She quietly rolled the door down.
Squatting close to the door she turned on a UV light and surveilled the interior. The rollup door had a metal flap that, had the alarm been on, would have broken the security beam had it been raised more than a hand width.
Her next instinct was to look for any light or heat sensitive booby-traps or additional security. Across the room a photosensor was aimed at the door, and, next to it was a box with a flashing red light. She quickly unscrewed an antennae attached to the box and threw a work rag over the light sensor.
Now I have time to evaluate your stash. It’s always good to know what the opposition has.
Anna grinned while getting an overall view of the half-filled 20-foot long storage room.
To her left was a work table with several dissected listening bugs and a transponder identical to the one she had disabled.
Her smile faded.
You’re not going to leave well enough alone, are you? I may just have to do something about your probing.
Next to the electronics was Starr’s fake identification fabrication equipment. Anna nodded approval over the quality of the blank documents. Below the edge, some false starts had been thrown into an open burn bag.
Moving to the back, she peered at stacked short and long wood and metal boxes, some of which she immediately recognized as military weapons shipment boxes.
Slowly stepping from left to right along the back wall, her black gloved hands gently lifted and replaced box lids. Her mental inventory grew as she inspected the array of stolen Dallas Police Department and local Army base equipment and weapons.
Nice little stolen property cache. I could use a few of these.
Her smile widened.
Why not!
Anna took an empty duffle bag from her pack and went shopping, preferentially getting unused items with serial numbers already ground off.
She stifled a yawn and looked at her watch. Four. Another couple hours and Pete will wake up. I hate drugging him with a double dose of sleeping pills, but I can’t have him waking up early like yesterday.
She exhaled deeply.
Now...to cover my tracks.
From the black bag she removed a cylindrical candle, a baggie of contact match heads, and a Tupperware container of magnesium filings.
Two hours should do it.
With her switchblade she cut a hole just below the second pre-marked striation in the candle.
Into it, she inserted a dozen red phosphorus match heads. The rest of the match tips she poured into the Tupperware and shook. She buried the candle base just enough to cover the filled hole.
From a military-marked box in the corner, Anna extracted a block of C4 explosive and set it down in a gap she had created between two wood crates. Knowing the plastic explosive would burn at a thousand degrees, she set the incendiary device on top of it to act as a starter. With some shoving, more wooden weapons crates formed the front wall with just a small access.
If I want to take you out of the picture, I can’t have everything go up.
Her gloved hand slipped several of Starr’s failed photo identification attempts into an empty metal ammo box. After securing the lid, she put it on the cement floor near the roll up door to better protect it from the anticipated intense heat.
Time to leave.
With a disposable lighter, she lit the candle and slid a small wood crate in front of the device to prevent early detection.
She slightly gapped the roll-up door and peered underneath. Seeing the alley clear, she rolled it higher, shoved out both heavily loaded bags then the jammer. Rolling out, she lowered the door to a hand width and reactivated the beams.
It took another couple minutes and a drop of super glue to secure the small hair back in place.
Hand-over-hand, she ascended the rope until her leg swung over the roof edge. Once up, she hauled up the two packs tied to the tether’s end and tucked the rope back into her pack, then extracted the jammer.
Now I can turn off the jamming signal.
For a moment she watched the LED display for signs that another sensor might have activated.
Just in case I missed something, I’ll monitor her vehicle while I’m driving yesterday’s acquisition home. Worst case, I’ll call in an anonymous fire report. That’ll keep Starr from accessing her unit until it’s too late.
Lugging the heavy load, she walked to the spot above the camera, leaned over and removed the clear bag. The freed Fuzz was allowed to waft to the ground. The baggie went into her pack lest she leave evidence.
Minutes later she was outside the concertina-topped chain link fence, slumped with her burden, and heading three blocks to an accident-damaged and barely road-worthy gray-primer painted Ford Expedition.
Chapter 28
August 22, 0300 hours
The Spider
Yoav ponderously set the secure phone back into its cradle.
“So what’s your pretty little investigator crying about?” Collette’s smirk betrayed her jealousy. “Starr seemed agitated when I answered.... Said she’d only talk with you.”
Yoav was staring at a blank screen. “Quiet...let me think.” His index finger nervously tapped a key without depressing it. A moment passed before his chair swiveled to the analyst. He let out a deep exhale. “She’s been arrested.”
Her expression slackened. “Anything connected to us?”
Yoav slowly shook his head. “No. More about her extracurricular activities.”
Collette’s brow narrowed. “Which are?”
“Trading things...for things.” His eyes suddenly widened as a grin formed. “Get me the number of that law firm the Heywards used.” He rose and walked to a small table.
“The one that investigated the
Maldives assassination and cleared Tom Heyward?”
“Right. They’ve proven to go the extra mile for their client. This may work to our advantage.”
She sighed and clicked her keyboard. “Hancock and Associates. Number’s on your screen.”
“Open a secure line to the police station.” He sat down and cradled the steaming cup.
Moments later. “Line’s ringing to booking.”
With the mute button active, he picked up the handset. “Always create an opportunity from misfortune.”
Chapter 29
August 23, 0900 hours
Heyward Ranch
The switchblade cut deep into the old oak log bench. The elegant patterning of the initials were made precise by hands long-practiced with sharp weapons.
“There. It’s done.” Anna pushed the double-edged tactical blade back into its spring-loaded handle and slipped it into her boot.
“‘PH+AH’. I love it!” Pete flicked wood fragments away from the new engraving.
“Did you and what’s her name—” Anna’s attention shifted to a smaller, darker lettering cut two decades earlier.
“Susie Tremaine.”
“That’s what I said.” She smirked. “Carve your initials together on this log bench? Or did you do it alone?”
“By myself, after a date one evening,” Pete mused. “Right after high school graduation.... We were prom king and queen, voted the couple most likely to get married. At the time, I felt nothing could have been better than being in love with the head cheerleader, and knowing she was in love with me. I was on top of the world. Amazing what kids will think when we’re young.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “How stereotypical!”
“Maybe, but being a stereotype certainly didn’t explain my desire in marrying you.” He lightly touched the side of her tanned face, guiding her focus to him. His open fingers slid into her thick wavy hair.
“Naiveté might,” she jested while batting long slightly darker eyelashes. Her finger traced a larger group of endearment initials that had a ‘pH’. “So who’s the small ‘p’ Heyward?”
Pete chuckled. “That would be Patrick.”
Her brow knit. “Why the small ‘p’?”
“Because he’s the younger, but as I liked to tease him, he’s had too many girlfriends to use a larger letter.”
Anna broke out laughing but it quickly faded. “Speaking of girlfriends.... Shame about Starr getting busted for possession of stolen weapons.”
“Patrick was crushed when he heard the news,” Pete said somberly. “Bizarre that it happened just two days after meeting us.”
“Isn’t it though.” Her voice sounded sweet and innocent.
“Don’t worry about Patrick. He’s no doubt dusted off his little black book.”
“Sure it’s so little?” Her eyes crinkled at the corners.
He softly kissed his smiling bride of two weeks. They lingered in the close embrace for a minute before glancing at his watch. “Come on, Babe. It’s time to go.”
His rough hand slid down her bare arm to take her softer hand. “Your scratches are mostly gone.”
“I heal fast.” Anna rose with him and Shade bounded ahead.
The mid-morning sky was cloudless and the cicadas were chirping loudly as they walked, arm-in-arm, under the grove of post oaks heading to the large ranch house. The moss threads hanging from the branches were more prevalent than during their wedding and created wavering shadows.
“It’s going to be another scorcher today!” She tugged her white blouse from bare skin. “I’m looking forward to heading north. Texas is fierce in August.”
Their family had gathered solemnly in the shade of the stone porch. Beyond them, Pete’s white Ford Expedition was parked near the steps, loaded for the extended honeymoon.
They hugged his parents, then his siblings: MacKenzie, Paula, and Patrick. The family knew it would be months before the couple re-emerged.
“Bye, everyone.” Anna said cheerfully before walking to the SUV. She paused at the passenger door, and turned to her new in-laws and, with a catch in her voice, added, “I love you!”
She climbed into the leather seat.
Pete closed her door, walked around, waved once more to his family, and entered the driver’s side. Eyes soft with compassion, he started down the driveway. “It’s been what, 19 years since you’ve said that to a family member?”
“Nearly.” She pulled off her boots, unbuttoned her blouse and knotted it above her firm midriff.
Pete’s attention drew to her now exposed cleavage and clinging fabric.
She faced him. “Your mom doesn’t like it when I go braless, does she?”
“Let’s just say her generation frowns on it.”
Her brow arched and a crooked smile formed. “Do you?”
“Babe, you’ve got the sexist body I’ve ever known.”
“You’re evading the question.”
“It makes you even more distracting...in a good way...but I’m a bit jealous when others get similarly interested.”
Proudly she declared, “Well, God designed women to bounce.... Get me to a cooler climate and I’ll dress...warmer.” Touching a button, her seat backed to its farthest position.
“That’s not motivation to drive faster, and besides, you don’t bounce much,” he chortled.
“Yet! Wait a few months as pregnancy bloats my body.” Her head leaned against Pete’s broad shoulders and her left hand wrapped lightly around his upper arm. “You know what a cooler clime will force me to do?” Her head tilted up to show him fluttering lashes.
“Dare I ask?”
“Wear clothes in bed.” Her grin widened. “I’m thinking long-sleeve flannel...with booties.”
He ignored the jibe. “Not that I’m complaining, but sleeping nude...is that a French thing?”
“It’s a freedom thing!” She straightened up and shook her head in mock disappointment and leaned back. “Seriously, Pete. Sleeping au naturel is more comfortable.”
“As I said, I enjoy the contact. Probably best not to mention it to mom though.”
She smirked. “Does Irma know I don’t have tan lines?” She inwardly chuckled at her mother-in-law’s provincial attitude.
“Ah, probably not. Where do you disappear for privacy, anyway?”
“To our wedding night cabin...very isolated. I love that your family restored it with a nice south-facing porch.”
There was an awkward silence while she considered whether to continue. Her smile faded. “Back to the sentiment—”
“Telling my family you loved them?”
“Uh huh...after the assault, I blocked out showing affection...to people, anyway. I just couldn’t feel love or say it to anyone, and I refused to let love be used against me. I morphed into an actress of sorts—”
“You must get your acting skills from your mother.”
She shrugged, then added sadly, “My father said I was very much like her in talent. You saw from the album cover how much I look like her.”
“Sorry to bring that up—”
“It’s okay, Pete. I was seven when she died.”
“What did you inherit from your dad?”
There was a slight pause.
“His temper...and analytical skill. As I was saying, I called up the emotions each situation demanded.”
“You faked your way through relationships?” Pete turned north onto a county road, and started passing the ranches of friends and neighbors.
“Not at first. Negative emotions came easily. Anger, resentment, envy...those I used as motivation at first. Guys avoided me.”
“That’s when you were driven to master martial arts?”
“Among other things,” she quipped. “Any weapon, skill or knowledge that made me more dangerous.”
“To seek retribution?”
She nodded. “Initially.... For my day of revenge...and when it came, it...was...intoxicating. I was 17, confident and strong, and oddly, more appealing t
o men. Later, when I was 19, and in UCLA, my dad died in the helicopter training exercise. With no close relatives, my life simplified.”
“How’s that?” His brow narrowed.
“As an orphan, I was as anonymous or noted as I wanted. An Easter egg one might say – a prettily painted shell containing hard-boiled ambitions. I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone and was, apparently, a perfect recruit for the progressive cause, because, as you know, my moral compass was broken.”
Pete grinned at her choice of words. “Babe, you now have a family that loves you.”
Her hand touched his arm. “Yeah, but mostly because they love you.”
“By the way, there’s a present for you in the glove box.”
Her eyes sparkled when she found a small, gift-wrapped package. “I love them too, Pete, though I still suspect Mac and Irma think I’m forcing you into seclusion.” Her fingers separated the wrapping.
“Paula too.”
Anna pouted. “And Patrick?”
He chuckled. “He thinks it pretty cool to run away. But this is my choice, not theirs. Besides, we’ll stay in contact.”
She lifted the box lid and threw her head back laughing. “You got me a moral compass!”
“Top of the line...electronic, altimeter, GPS, and pre-loaded with driving and trail maps.”
She playfully pointed it at him. “How do I know when I’m going the wrong way?” she asked facetiously.
He rubbed her tanned, muscled leg. “I’ll always be at your side to guide you.”
They arrived at a highway intersection. At the far corner was a gas station with a cardboard sign advertising ‘bio gasoline’. Pete knew to avoid damaging his SUV’s engine with the impurities inherent with bootleg fuel. The black market fuel hadn’t even been possible a month ago. It wasn’t until that fateful first day of July when the UN authorized Snath Genetics to turn on their carbon capturing technologies, not least being the startup of global biofuel refineries. Then two weeks later the Internet erupted with the technical plans for backyard biofuel kits and source information to acquire the genetically modified microbes needed to run the process. Since the UN Carbon Law started limiting petroleum production, it seemed everyone was converting all the biomass they could scrounge into fuel.