On The Black: (A CIA Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  He had memorized the number and the code word. And the name of the contact at the other end. Jimmy. Easy to remember. He was some kind of ex-military engineering genius who worked for the mountain man in some previous life.

  The other rule was no messages left. He had to connect personally with Jimmy. Jimmy would say “Who won the game?” and Wilson would say “The Black Flies.” That was it. Then $10K would show up within a week or two by FedEx.

  Wilson peeked out his hospital room door. There were a lot of people moving back and forth in the hallways. Visiting hours just after supper. Peak traffic in the bone ward. Wilson just tried to act naturally, like he was taking a stroll and merged into the flow moving towards the elevators.

  He awkwardly passed an old woman in a walker who had too much of her backside exposed and reached the elevator unassailed. He poked the L button, causing a stab of pain in his side. His goal was to find a phone, make the call, and climb back into his hospital bed. They were feeding him painkillers on a regular basis and he didn't want to miss the next round.

  In the lobby, he came across three pay phones, all occupied, which gave him time to check his pockets. He had no money. On Wednesdays, the mountain guy fed him a fresh fifty, so he never worried about carrying change.

  Wilson decided he would pretend he left his money in his room and would ask someone if they could lend him a quarter. How could they resist a kid in a cast? Then he looked out through the glass doors at the hospital entrance and saw three teenage girls loitering at the front, one smoking a cigarette. They were all good-looking, a trifecta of teenage pulchritude. He was drawn to them almost immediately, standing in the dusky glow of a sunset, smiling, holding up their colorful smart phones. Surely they couldn't resist him either. He could ask to use a phone, complete his mission, and meet three girls he had never seen before.

  He stumbled through the revolving door; the glaring sodium lights momentarily blinding him. He could smell the young girls instantly - the air filled with scents of vanilla and strawberry and coconut oil sunscreen. The combination hit him like a blow to the head, and he tripped on the sidewalk and went down on his knees, which caused his ribs to explode into pain. He hung his head down and gasped. Everything had kicked in - the dizziness, the double vision, the nausea. He was dreading the thought of losing his hospital dinner on the ground in front of the three teenagers.

  “Are you okay?” one of them said, her mouth shaped like a little cherry gloss 'O'. Wilson couldn't answer. He was too weak.

  Then Wilson heard a voice. Two men walked up beside him. Both took an arm and roughly lifted him up.

  “He's with us. He'll be okay,” one of them said. They were both wearing dark suits and sunglasses - like two wannabe Men In Black.

  Wilson mumbled “I don't know these guys,” then vomited all over the front of his hospital gown, which he noticed was now crookedly hanging out of his pants.

  “You're worse than a five year old,” remarked one of the men who frog-marched Wilson to a black sedan and pushed him into the back seat and closed the door. “Did you at least go to the bathroom before you left the hospital?” Then both men laughed and the car squealed out of the parking lot.

  CHAPTER 32

  Whiskey Gulch, Montana

  RICE CLIMBED BACK INTO THE DRIVER’S SEAT from the sleeper and took stock. He pulled his kit bag up off the floor and carefully checked the contents. He and Addie had split the cash they took from Jessie and he figured he had about forty thousand. She told him it was bad luck. She didn’t want anything to do with bikers.

  Then he focused on what the bikers were doing. They had a solid rhythm going; the guys with chainsaws were cutting lengths of limbs and shorter trees into four-foot segments, the rest were carrying them onto the gravel road and stacking them under the Kenworth.

  It was hard for Rice to determine how far the bikers had progressed on their project because he couldn't see directly under the rig. But based on time spent, he guessed they were about fifteen to twenty minutes away from having enough wood piled up to do serious damage to the Kenworth and the trailer.

  Rice also knew you couldn't ignite a four-foot chunk of solid wood with a match or even gasoline. They would have to bring in more branches and smaller pieces for kindling. They would need a lot. That would take time as well. He figured they had thirty minutes max.

  It was going to be close. The sun was still not at the horizon yet, and Rice needed pitch dark for his plan to work. And a starless sky would help too. Luckily, there was a mass of low-hanging cloud bearing down on them, maybe even rain. Rain wouldn't be a bad thing - it might slow down the Satan's Raider's plan for a giant bonfire as well.

  “Vadar. We need to talk.” Rice was back on the public address system. He'd lost track of the rotund biker, as surprising as that was. He checked over his shoulder to see how Addie was doing. She was gone. The door at the back of the sleeper was open, showing a black void into the trailer. And she had taken the backpack with her.

  Vader tromped around from the driver's side of the truck, his hands on his hips. He stood by Rice's door. That was close, thought Rice. A few seconds sooner and he might have caught sight of Addie as she climbed through the space between the cab and the tractor-trailer.

  Rice looked Vader in the eye. “How do you want to do this?”

  “It's not that complicated,” said Vader. “Roll down the window and give me the money.”

  “I want to talk to Slugger.”

  Vader smirked and swiped some sawdust off his shoulder. “Slugger is under the knife. He's out for the count. I'm in charge here.”

  “Then you know that Slugger and I have a deal.”

  “Bullshit!” said Vader.

  “You know that Frank is out of the picture,” said Rice.

  “He's more than out of the picture.”

  “And I'm your new distributor,” said Rice.

  This time Vader didn't call him out right away. Rice knew what he was thinking. It wouldn't be a huge stretch to see Frank replaced by this guy with the fancy rig.

  “Think about it. Why did Slugger want this eighteen-wheeler so badly? Why risk his life over a lousy hundred K?” asked Rice.

  Vader stood there, looking up, his drug soaked brain working away feverishly. Obviously a hundred thousand dollars didn’t seem like a trivial issue to him.

  “This rig came from Mexico. How much weed do you think I'm hauling right now? I'll make it easy. How many tons do you think I can carry?” asked Rice.

  At this point, all work had stopped on the bonfire. The thought of a mountain of Mexican weed only a few feet away had caught everyone's attention. Every biker was standing at rapt attention, struggling to catch every word. Rice had read once that one of the reasons biker gangs succeed is that everyone in the group gets an equal share. Sure, a leader may get an extra poke or two. But the glue that keeps the soldiers faithful was access to the treasure. A semi-load full of marijuana was worth tens of millions. Rice guessed there would be very little interest now in potentially burning up a fortune.

  “Prove it,” said Vader, visibly nervous that they were on the verge of lighting up millions of dollars of drugs. Or being scammed by a truck driver.

  “You want to see the goods?” asked Rice.

  “You've got two minutes before I start pouring gasoline.” said Vader.

  “My deal is with Slugger,” said Rice.

  “Two minutes and counting.”

  “You're a dead man, Vader. When Slugger finds out you burnt up fifty million dollars in premium Ganga, he'll use your head for batting practice.”

  “Just show me the fucking weed.”

  “OK. I'm going to go up on the roof of the truck. I'm going to walk along the top of the tractor and lower myself in. The keys to the locks on the back door are inside. A security precaution. Have you got that?”

  Vader looked up at the roof of the truck. Then he nodded and headed back to the rear door of the tractor trailer. Rice watched him on the screen. Vad
er touched two bikers on their backs, sending both out onto the road. Presumably to get a good view of the roof of the tractor. They both had guns.

  As soon as Vader headed back, Rice grabbed his bag and jumped up on the sleeper. He pushed the bag through the opening and tossed it into the open door to the trailer. He pulled himself through the opening and stretched across the gap, hauling himself in through the escape hatch. He fell the rest of the way.

  On the other side was just black emptiness with a hard steel floor that he met with his shoulder.

  “You OK?” asked Addie, a voice in the dark.

  “You decided to take the money,” said Rice, the wind knocked out of him, trying to get oriented without benefit of sight. The air smelled slightly of jet fuel, which made him smile to himself.

  Outside he could hear Vader. “Times almost up, asshole.”

  “Finders keepers,” Addie said quietly.

  “You’ll put it to better use than these Neanderthals,” said Rice. “We have more important things to worry about. We're going to stage a very entertaining magic trick for an audience of thirty.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I'm certifiable. SERE training proves that. I have a getaway vehicle. But it only has room for one.”

  “You're going to leave me here?”

  “Yes, but in a good way. I'm going to make a big showy exit. Meanwhile, you are going to take the exit hatch down to the ground under the trailer. Then head into the tree line next to the road and lay low. They will think you've left with me. They'll never look for you. It will be dark in a few minutes. Wait a few hours and hitchhike out.”

  “You're trying to get rid of me.”

  “I am trying to save your life.”

  “Then let me go with you.”

  “There's no room. It's a one-way ticket for one person.”

  “You're talking about that thing in here?”

  “Thing?”

  “I felt my way around in here. Looking for your huge stash of weed. There's nothing in here but some kind of machine. It feels like a racecar, but it has no wheels. “What is it?”

  “It's an experimental vehicle.”

  “A vehicle? What does that mean?”

  “A one-man… or should I say, one-person escape device.”

  “Only one person?”

  “Yes”

  “No extra room for storage or anything?”

  “No.”

  Rice could tell Addie was angry. It was too bad. His escape plan was built years ago. Long before he had considered picking up a hitchhiker.

  “You need to go the second you hear an explosion. It will act as a diversion.”

  “What about the job offer?”

  “Change of plans, Addie. I’m scrapping the export business idea.”

  “We could have made a good team.”

  “Sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “Yeah, especially because I didn’t have my thumb out.”

  There was nothing else Rice could say. His plan was to save one person. He had no room for a castaway. Then he heard the crash of a heavy fist on the back door of the trailer.

  “Fine. Then I'll take the escape hatch.”

  “You found it?” asked Rice, waiting for the bikers to start their fire.

  “What did you want me to do while I was waiting? Play Angry Birds?” Rice had no idea what she meant, assuming Angry Birds was some kind of game you played in the dark.

  “Take care, Addie,” said Rice. She didn't answer, but he heard the clang of the escape hatch and the sound of her feet on the steel floor. Then the tractor filled with noise. The bikers had begun banging their fists on the sides, angry and insistent. They hadn't heard from him, and he hadn't appeared on the roof yet. If he had, he would be dead by now. He was of no use to them. They guessed all they had to do was get up onto the roof to gain access. Which was a lie designed to buy Rice time. But the time was up - and then he heard footsteps on the roof.

  “Time’s up Rice. Bring the girl and the money and open the door. That’s the deal.”

  “I never said you could have the girl,” Rice yelled.

  “It’s a package deal, asshole. The money you owe us, and the girl. You don’t have a choice. I’m counting to five.”

  Rice thought, that’s cause he can’t count any higher. An unwashed, unshaven fat man with a fragile ego was pushing his buttons. A professional crook and drug launderer. He wanted to put a tiny black hole in his heart. Standing close enough to see his eyes bug out when he felt the punch of the bullet in his chest.

  But what Rice was about to do would probably stop the biker’s heart anyway.

  Without wasting an ounce of ammo.

  CHAPTER 33

  Whiskey Gulch, Montana

  SUMNER WAS AT THE BACK OF THE ACTION, crouched down in heavy forest, a quarter-mile east of the biker rally. He had his binoculars focused on the white tractor-trailer, now strangely lit up by the headlights of a dozen Harleys. The bikers had pushed brush and pine logs deep into the undercarriage of the semi, but thankfully no one had started a fire yet. One biker was on the roof, stomping down in apparent frustration and yelling. His words were buried in the burgeoning growl of the V-twin engines.

  Sumner strained to make out human shapes in the cab of the Kenworth. He couldn’t see any movement, all the glass crazed and cracked and opaque, but still intact. He had watched them firing on the truck with every gun at their disposal, including heavy gauge shotguns. Very little was achieved. This was no ordinary rig. They had wasted hundreds of rounds on a hardened exterior up to military specs. Those upgrades had to cost a fortune.

  Sumner turned his optics on the bikers, the rough idle of the hogs roaring in his ears. He watched the Raider’s faces shimmer in the dark as their bodies shook. Harley-Davidson, he thought. They make the world’s most expensive personal vibrators.

  And of course, everyone was armed. It was a spring evening cluster fuck if ever he saw one. The giant Raider standing aft of the trailer was doing a loud countdown. Sumner turned his binoculars on him. When he reached for the back door with his fist, the trailer rumbled, then shook with the sound of dozens of explosive bolts firing at once.

  Then the roof exploded upward taking the biker with it. He was tossed into the surrounding trees. The sides of the tractor dropped away, some of the shiny panels crashing into the crowd.

  On the platform of the trailer, now lit like a stage by the Harley headlights, stood a strange object. Sumner thought it looked like a missing section of a stealth bomber. Angular and flat black. He squinted, trying to make sense of it. The machine was about twelve feet long. Six feet high. A figure inside was reaching up and a second later the top of the device seemed to bloom. Blades, thought Sumner. They’re copter blades. Long, sculpted, tucked together. Then the machine began to hum, the blades unfolding at the same time, becoming instantly invisible in the night air. Sumner could see the man inside the device, hunkered down. Guns began to bark in the dark. The Raiders were watching their hostage take flight.

  The flying machine appeared to leap instantly into the air, straight up, with a minimum of noise. Sumner was hypnotized by the sight. Some experimental flying machine he had never seen before, now completely invisible in the night sky. No lights. A buzz that seemed to fill the open space above the clearing, but nothing directional that would tell the crowd where the helicopter had gone.

  Several of the bikers crawled up onto the tractor bed, their scrunched and unhappy faces looking up into the stars, shooting randomly into the clouds.

  Sumner raced back to his Yukon, which was parked up on the highway away from the chaos around the turnoff. The driver of the Kenworth had somehow gotten airborne and Sumner was running through the possibilities of how to head him off. He had OBSEC on his cell phone within seconds.

  “Minneapolis, you have to get something in the air and fast. It looks like an experimental copter or something just launched on my location.” Can those things run on energy cells? he thoug
ht. The flying machine was as quiet as a Prius. It shot straight up. “Dull black, looks like a composite surface, like the skin of a stealth fighter, but smaller than a subcompact. No lights. What can we track it with?”

  “Side facing radar might work. I’ll connect with Connelly Airport and the traffic control tower in Minneapolis. Maybe they can pick something out.”

  “What the fuck is that thing? And where did he get it? Who is this Addie Blum anyway?”

  “I could request a Bell Interceptor out of Minot AFB. But they’re about 6 hours out.”

  “He’ll be in the wind by then.” Sumner took a ragged breath. “And I need a trace on a license plate. There’s a red Dodge truck that’s been shadowing us.”

  And then to himself. “What the hell am I getting mixed up with?”

  CHAPTER 34

  Whiskey Gulch, Montana

  BRENT PULLED OVER to the shoulder on the freeway a thousand yards back from where the Kenworth had turned off the main road. He was watching for highway patrol or state cops and was ready to divert them if necessary. He didn’t need any complications. But he also felt poorly equipped to deal with a small army of Satan’s Raiders on his own.

  When he saw the bikers cutting down trees and piling them up under Rice’s truck, he called his brother again. They agreed it would take hours to have armed backup on location. Too late to save Rice if the gang members were able to get a good fire started.

  “You need to think of something.”

  “We could just let the bikers do our job for us.”

  “Kreegar was pretty clear. He wants him alive.”

  “Well, I can’t guarantee that anymore. There are over thirty armed men and they seem pretty focused on smoking our ex-agent out of his truck. The highway patrol won’t help. Rice will just be caught in the middle of a war.”

  Brent tried to think. He was about to consider just walking into the midst of the situation and depend on pure balls to win the bikers over. Then he heard the explosion and saw the trailer come apart.