Final Finesse

by Karna Small Bodman

  “There he goes, acting like the boss again,” Juan muttered to Simon as he popped the trunk. “Always acting like the big man around us.”

  Simon hauled the duffel bags out while Juan handled the rest of their tools. “I know what you mean. He thinks he’s so important. I’ll bet you and I could handle this whole operation by ourselves,” Simon said under his breath.

  “Sure we could. Well, we’re almost finished anyway.”

  “So what do we do about it?”

  Juan scanned the area. “I’d like to get rid of him. Then we split the money two ways.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I never liked that guy. But how do we do it?”

  “We can’t make any noise,” Juan whispered. “There’s nobody around, but we can’t chance a gun shot or anything like that.”

  “I may have another idea,” Simon murmured.

  Up ahead, Carlos cut a hole in the fence and held it open while the others scrambled up and crawled through. Then he followed, and the trio ran up to the section of pipeline that was raised off the ground, making an upside down U shape. Juan carefully lifted a pig and the two canisters out of one of the bags and removed their outer shells.

  “When I first saw those things, I thought they looked like scuba tanks. So what are we doing with scuba tanks?” Simon said.

  “They’re not scuba tanks,” Juan answered.

  “What’s that writing say?” Carlos asked, peering at the canisters. “What language is that? Arabic or something?”

  “It’s Farsi, and it’s none of your business what it says.” Juan couldn’t read Farsi, and he had no idea what it said. But the fixer had told him it was a special shipment from Iran, so it had to be in Farsi. It didn’t make any difference to him what it said. He had his orders, and he had work to do.

  He reached into his duffel again and pulled out two timers in square boxes and two blasting caps. He twisted the end off of one of the canisters and, as Rossi had promised, saw that there was an inner seal. He fixed the blasting cap to the top of the seal and ran a pair of wires from the cap to a small box containing a timer. He fiddled with the wires and the box. It was taking him quite some time.

  “What are you doing?” Carlos asked, holding the flashlight so Juan could work. “That doesn’t look like anything we used before.”

  “Never mind,” said Juan. “I have my orders from Rossi. I know what I’m doing. Just don’t get too close, and don’t mess me up. I have to be careful with this or it’ll blow up before we get it inside the pipe.”

  “Okay, okay,” Carlos said, inching back but still focusing the light on Juan’s hands.

  Juan continued to work, slowly but carefully. At one point, he dropped a tool, tangled the wires and then had to rearrange them again. It was slow, meticulous work.

  “You’re going too slow,” Carlos said.

  “Shut up,” Juan responded. “I don’t need your advice. These are special. I told you that. Now just keep quiet and hold that flash light steady.”

  He finished hooking the wires up to one canister and extended them to the timer. He still had to deal with the second one.

  “This is taking too much time,” Carlos complained. “Someone could drive by and see us.”

  Juan stood up. After being hunched over for so long, his back and shoulders hurt. He turned on Carlos. “I said before, I don’t need your advice. I know what I’m doing. Turn that light off, I need a break.

  “No,” Carlos said, waving the flashlight around. “Fix the other one. We’ve never taken this long to set up an explosion. We’ve got to do this one and get out of here.”

  Juan lunged at Carlos, knocking the flashlight to the ground. He took a swing as Simon pulled a knife from his pocket, leaped forward and plunged it into Carlos’ back. He screamed.

  “Gotta shut him up!” Juan said as Simon twisted the knife and Juan clasped a hand over Carlos’ mouth. Carlos struggled, frantically waving his arms until he finally collapsed, smashing his head on the side of the insertion station.

  “He almost hit the canisters,” Simon said, staring aghast at the body on the ground.

  “Can you drag him out of here?”

  Simon grunted and reached down to pull Carlos away. “He’s not dead yet. But that fall knocked him out. He’ll lose blood and, well, who cares?” He reached down and pulled the knife out, swiped it across his jeans and shoved it back into his pocket.

  “Nobody cares. When we’re done, we leave him here. Check his clothes. Be sure there’s no ID.”

  Simon leaned down again, fished through Carlos’ pockets and retrieved a wallet.

  “Good,” Juan said. “Now, I need your help with the flashlight. I’ve got to get this other canister hooked up. Then we put them end to end into this long pig, set the timers, get everything inside the line and get outta here.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  EN ROUTE TO THE US–MONDAY OVERNIGHT

  “I just talked to Ken Cosgrove again,” Samantha said, hanging up the satellite phone. “He said the closest FBI agents were surrounding the entire Henry Hub complex and more were on the way, though I did get the sense that there was some bureaucratic argument about who was in charge of the whole operation.”

  “Nothing new there,” Tripp commented from across the cabin. “You want a bottle of water or some coffee?”

  “Coffee would be good. I couldn’t sleep much on this flight back, but now I need to stay awake. Same for you too, I’m sure.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Ken also told me that they’ve been getting some satellite images from the surrounding area, and they’re working now to superimpose them on maps of southern Louisiana.”

  “Finally some good news. If they find anything, which of our many bureaus will be going after the bad guys?” Tripp asked, pouring coffee into a pair of mugs from the plane’s galley.

  “He said the local sheriff and his deputies were arguing that they knew the territory better than the feds, and that they would be fanning out. He gave me the sheriff’s number so we can check with him later. I just pray that they find some activity somewhere and get these people, whoever they are. And when they do, I want to be there and find out who really sent them,” she said.

  “And see if you’re right about the whole Venezuela connection,” Tripp said.

  “Of course.” She nodded her thanks when he handed her the coffee.

  “I’m with you on that,” he said. “I think we should be landing in Louisiana pretty soon. I’ll double check.”

  He moved up the aisle to the cockpit. “Did you locate a landing strip close to Erath?” Tripp asked the pilot.

  “Roger that. We’re coming in to a private FBO. And they’ve got a helicopter waiting, just like you asked. But aren’t there local law enforcement out looking for those attackers? Do you think you can find them any faster in your own helo?”

  “I don’t know, but I figured an extra chopper roaming around might help. Besides, I brought along night vision equipment from Greyfield, so we can scan a pretty wide area. How soon do we land?”

  “Should be there in another fifteen minutes or so. Better go fasten your seatbelts.”

  “Good. Thanks.” Tripp closed the cockpit door just as Samantha was calling out to him.

  “Tripp. They’ve got a lead. Can you believe this? I’ve got the Sheriff’s office on the line. They just got word from the feds about activity several miles from Henry Hub. The sheriff and a bunch of deputies are on the way now. The general location came from the satellite. They’re not sure if it’s the men we’re looking for, but who else would be out near a gas line in the middle of the night?”

  “It’s gotta be them. I just hope they find them before they’re able to set off another explosion or whatever they’re planning this time. Ask where they’re going. Maybe we can get there in the helo.”

  Samantha talked for a few more minutes, said they were landing shortly, gave the man her cell phone number and asked the deputy to call her with
an update and exact location as soon as the sheriff got there. She hung up, fastened her seat belt and finally got up the courage to look out the window as they began their descent.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  LOUISIANA–MONDAY OVERNIGHT

  Juan heard it first. A car or truck approaching. “Turn off the light,” he whispered. “Somebody’s coming”. Simon turned it off and crouched down. Juan had just finished his wiring, and he peered down the road.

  “What are we gonna do?” Simon asked.

  “Stay quiet,” Juan said. “Maybe they’ll just pass by.”

  Suddenly, they heard sirens and saw two cars peeling around a corner of the road. The vehicles screeched to a stop by the fence and four men jumped out with guns drawn. “Stop right where you are!” one shouted as they all ran to the break in the fence.

  “Shit,” Simon said. He jumped up and started to run across the field. Juan quickly reached over and set both of the timers. Sixty minutes. The fixer had been very specific about how they had to figure out the distance to the final target. The gas flowed a certain number of miles an hour, and they had to gauge it right or their efforts would be wasted. And the hour gave them plenty of time to get completely out of the area and not feel any effects of this final assault.

  Just as he was about to close the pig and shove it into the insertion station, the sheriff ran up to Juan and ordered, “Hands up. You’re under arrest.” Juan almost had the pig closed when the Sheriff grabbed him and slammed his hands down, leaving the open pig with the canisters and timers lined up inside.

  One deputy ran after Simon. Another one started to join him but saw the body and stopped. “Hey, sheriff, got a body here.”

  “Somebody dead?” the Sheriff called out as he clamped hand cuffs on Juan and pushed him down to the ground.

  “He’s still breathing, but there’s a lot of blood. Looks like a knife wound. I’ll call the medics. We might be able to save him.”

  “If the scum is worth saving,” the sheriff muttered. “Get out there and help Buddy with that other guy. Looks like he’s got him cornered, but you better go make sure.” He looked down at his prisoner, “Who knifed your buddy over there?”

  Juan didn’t answer.

  “Maybe he doesn’t speak English,” one of the deputies said.

  Simon had stumbled. It was then that the first deputy closed the distance, ran up and aimed his gun at the young man. Simon turned and held his hands up. “Don’t shoot,” he cried out in Spanish.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  LOUISIANA–MONDAY OVERNIGHT

  The plane taxied to a stop. Tripp and Samantha grabbed their bags and ran down the aisle toward the exit. “Thanks for the ride,” Tripp said to the pilot as he shoved open the door.

  “The helo is over there. Hope you find what you’re looking for,” the pilot said. “Good luck.”

  They headed for the helicopter. Samantha fished her cell phone out of her shoulder bag and flicked it on. She saw that she had a new message and recognized the number. “I’ve got to call the sheriff’s office. Maybe they can give us a precise location.”

  “Okay. Call him. I’m going to tell the helo pilot to get ready for take off.”

  He ran ahead as Samantha dialed the number. She told the deputy they had just landed, were about to board a helicopter, and she asked what had happened. He gave her a quick update. She listened intently. The deputy explained that they had two men in custody and a third one was on his way to the hospital. Then he went on to tell her exactly what the sheriff had found on the ground.

  “C’mon, Samantha,” Tripp shouted over the noise of the rotor blades. “Do you have a location? Can’t be far from here.”

  Samantha shut her cell and motioned to Tripp to get off. “Come here. I’ve got to talk to you,” she cried. “I don’t know if we should go to the site.”

  Tripp came down the stairs and ran over to her. “What are you talking about? Just tell the pilot where the sheriff is, and we can get there right away. You said you wanted to see who these guys are. It’s our chance to question them.”

  “No, they’ve got them in custody back at the station. Well, they’ve got two of them. Another one is hurt or something and is going to the hospital.”

  “Okay, so we’ll head to the sheriff’s place.”

  “Maybe we should. But there’s still a huge problem. At least it sounds like it could be huge.”

  “What’s that?” Tripp asked, glancing back at the helo, holding up his hand as if to say just a minute to the pilot.

  “The sheriff said the men were messing around with one of the insertion stations.”

  “But they stopped them before they sabotaged it. Right?”

  “They’re not sure.”

  “What do you mean, they’re not sure?”

  “He told me where the site is, and he said that they had sent out a call for a demolition expert, but the nearest one is miles away.”

  “Demolition expert? But if they stopped the bad guys …”

  “No, they said they arrested the men but had to leave the area because it looked like there was some sort of timing device there. They didn’t have anyone with them who could disarm it, and they wanted to get out of there before anything blew up. Since it’s above ground and not in the pipeline, he figured it wasn’t a huge risk. But they’ve got a man on the way just in case.”

  “Did they see the timers? See how much time they had?”

  “Yes. They said it was counting down to less than an hour.” She checked her watch. “It’s been a while now, and so that means it’s set to go off in … something like thirty minutes.”

  “So we get on the helo, get to the site and check it out.”

  “No, Tripp. Are you crazy?”

  “So now you’re calling me crazy? After all we’ve been through? Of course we have to check it out. What if their explosives guy doesn’t get there in time and the whole thing goes off? It’s right next to the insertion station. It could blow that and everything around it if it’s big enough.”

  “But you can’t go there.”

  “Do you see anybody else around here who’s had any explosives training?”

  Samantha stared at him. Now, just when she had him back, he wanted to go play Jack Bauer. Only they didn’t have twenty-four hours, they had half of one. Tripp turned and raced back to the chopper. Samantha picked up her bag and ran after him.

  “You’re not coming with me,” Tripp shouted as he climbed into the helicopter. “It’s too dangerous.”

  Samantha followed him up the stairs. “Yes, I am. You might need help.”

  Tripp thought about pushing her back down, but didn’t want to manhandle her. Damn woman was frustrating. He didn’t want her in the helo. He had no idea what he would find when they got to the insertion site. Whatever was there could blow up. He watched her climb in and heard her shout the location to the pilot who nodded. Then she slipped into her seat and buckled up.

  Tripp checked his watch. So they had about twenty-five or thirty minutes. It couldn’t be far. Once he saw the situation, he could order the pilot to take her away. He’d just have to see what was involved and make a decision when they got there. He had experience with explosives, and if these clowns were using basic stuff, he shouldn’t have too much trouble disarming their device, whatever it was.

  The pilot flew to the site Samantha described and set the chopper down in a field just inside a chain link fence near the insertion station. With the rotors still spinning, Tripp jumped out and ran to the pipeline. The pilot shut down the engine as Samantha hopped out and followed over the uneven ground.

  A three-quarter moon cast rays of light over the field so Tripp could see the inverted U-shaped station. The pilot had also given him a small flashlight. He raced over and stared at the open pig containing the two canisters and two boxes with timers on the top. He switched on the flashlight and saw that the first one read 19:02 and the other 19:03. Guy must have set these just before the sheriff got to h
im. Damn! He studied the timers and saw the wires leading to the ends of both canisters. Then he saw the markings. They were in Farsi.

  Tripp had served a stint in Iraq some years ago when they had recovered hordes of weapons shipped in from Iran. Several had markings in Farsi. He and his men had been briefed on some of the more lethal weapons, and he thought he recognized a few of the words on the canisters. Why would there be Iranian weapons in a field in Louisiana if these guys were from Venezuela? He knew the two countries were trading partners. But still. This was strange. It didn’t make any sense. He trained the flashlight on the markings again and shouted, “Oh shit!”

  “What is it?” Samantha called out as she ran across the field.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  “What? What’s there?”

  “Unless I’m all wrong, these things are full of radioactive gas! I said get the hell out.”

  “Let me see,” she said running up and staring at the contraptions in front of him.

  “Samantha, you don’t understand. These things could blow, and it could be like dirty bombs with radiation everywhere. Don’t you get it? Now get back to the chopper and tell the pilot to take off.”

  “I’m not leaving you. She grabbed the light. I’ll hold the flashlight while you disarm those timers. You said you knew how to do it, and you need me now,” she said defiantly, tossing her hair back with a shake of her head.

  He couldn’t let her stay. Sure, he thought he could do it. But what if he couldn’t? What if they went off? She could be killed. They could both be killed. But he had been in combat, she hadn’t. She had risked her life trying to rescue him. He had to protect her. Save her. He turned to her once more and took her by the shoulders.

  “Samantha, look at me. I’ve only got a short amount of time to work on these things. I can’t have you here. I don’t know where those goons got this stuff, but if they had been able to get it into the pipeline and release the gas as it’s going into one of the salt domes that holds our major supply by Henry Hub, there’s a chance it could contaminate the entire source. It looks like these timers were set to go off after these canisters reached the domes, and then the gas would be released.”