Reaper

by Buckhout, Craig

  Scarface, clearly now on the defensive said, “He’s got a bunch of guns in his truck. I was checking him out like I’m supposed to.”

  “And you’re holding my police identification in your hand, too.”

  “It could have been fake ID.”

  Steve, who had holstered his pistol, pushed past Max, grabbed the ID card from Scarface’s hand, and said, “The only thing fake around here are you two idiots.” He turned his back on Scarface and gave Max his ID back.

  Then it was Myra’s turn. She pushed through the crowd, shoved Scarface and said, “These guys have been acting like a bunch of jerks all day.” Turning her attention on Max, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. I just came here to check on you. I was worried.”

  “Oh, gawd,” Steve said. “This is like a damn soap opera.” He looked at Scarface and his partner and said, “Why don’t you guys go back to playing with yourselves and let us get some business done here?” He next addressed the CHP officer who was still standing there shaking his head, and thanked him for the support.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Max asked Myra.

  “Why are you always getting into trouble?” Myra asked in return, with a smile on her face. “I’m fine. They ran a Geiger counter over me after my last transport and found my clothes and boots were contaminated. So I trashed them and my gear, showered in the tent, that was fun, and dressed in the only thing they had for me, these.” She raised her arms to shoulder level and did a slow turnaround. “I’m clear of radiation now. …You came to check on me? Really?” She reached out and touched his forearm.

  “For Chrissakes, keep your pants on, you guys. Everyone’s still looking,” Steve said, putting a pinch of tobacco in his mouth.

  “What are you doing now?” Max asked.

  “Nothing, I’m done. Our rig has to be decontaminated, and I don’t have clothes or gear. So I guess I was going to hitch a ride to my car and head home.”

  “I’ll drop you if you want?”

  “Perfect.” She walked to the open driver’s door with the intention of getting in and sliding over, saw the guns lying on the back seat, and said, “Expecting more trouble?”

  Max laughed, “Always. I’ll explain it to you on the way, but first I want to hear about what happened today.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was the first time Max had ever really laid eyes on the place, though it had sat vacant for years, a monument to everything wrong with governments and the people who run them. The substation was a one hundred thousand square foot, three-story, ninety million dollar building, kinda, sorta shaped like a triangle that sat in the middle of ten acres in south San Jose. There was parking on the outside as well as underneath. It was surrounded with a perimeter fence, patches of landscaping here and there, and, in a head nod to conservation groups, also sported a green roof; California speak for a garden roof with a built-in rainwater, irrigation system.

  The facility was surrounded by other commercial buildings of similar size, all mostly vacant. To the east was a set of train tracks, beyond that Monterey Highway, and still further yet, a residential neighborhood.

  Waiting for Max and Steve, right on time, was Will Mason, a six-foot three, two hundred seventy pound man, with hands the size of twenty ounce sirloins, skin the color of a Hersey bar, and a head shaved clean on top but with a full, neatly trimmed beard below. He greeted Max and Steve with a smile that showed a perfect set of white, white teeth and a handshake that was surprisingly gentle.

  “The Chief told me what you’re doin’, and I think it’s a good idea. People are thinking all kinds of things right now, scared to all get out, and with all that’s happenin’, there’s good reason to be, too. It just seems like all of a sudden everything’s all messed up and nobody’s safe nowhere.”

  Max immediately liked him. “Well, maybe we can do a little bit of good here.”

  The tour took two hours, and the information was overwhelming. In addition to the usual stuff; air conditioning, telephones, internet, radio communication, thermostats, televisions, irrigation systems, elevators, the fire suppression system, and coded locks; the building had back-up generators, a prisoner processing area with holding cells, a day-care facility, infra-red cameras and monitoring station, a small but fully equipped gym, a functional kitchen and break room, a public address system, men’s and women’s locker rooms, a bunk room, a separate full-service vehicle building, a small firing range, and a steel reinforced arms room.

  Max figured that as long as he could get the doors to the place open and toilets flushing, he could make do. If anyone actually opted to send their family there, he’d hit the Chief up for someone from the city to maintain the building.

  The last thing Will showed them were the two, large metal shipping containers, one of which housed the emergency supplies. The other stood empty.

  Inside the one with the emergency supplies, there were about fifty folding cots, a huge stack of blankets, several fifty gallon barrels of drinking water, first aid kits, hundreds, perhaps thousands of empty sandbags, road flares, highway cones; common tools such as shovels, axes, and saws, plus rubber boots, reflective vests, and rain gear.

  Max was writing notes like mad, things he might need and ideas on how to organize a small group of urban refugees who may be living together for a short period of time. The trouble was, he didn’t know if anyone would actually use the place, and, if they actually did, if they’d only just use it part time. Not knowing made it difficult to plan. He got his first hint, however, when he received a call from Fred Lopes, the President of the Police Union.

  “When can people start showing up?” Lopes asked.

  “How’d you find out about it so soon?” Max asked.

  “The Chief called about an hour ago.”

  “Are there people interested?”

  “I’ve got four families so far.”

  “All cop families?”

  “Two are families of sworn and the other two are same as; our civilian staff here.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Max said.

  Max turned to Will, “How long would it take to get the electricity and air conditioning on so we can start hosting people?”

  “Electricity, it’s already on. Half the lights bulbs are disconnected, though, so a couple of hours to get the first floor fully lit. Air conditioning we can have with the flip of a switch, but it will take a few hours to get the building to temperature.”

  Max put the phone back to his ear. “Fred, have them call me, and I’ll talk to them.”

  “You don’t want me to coordinate that?”

  Max thought this a tempting offer but also didn’t want people being confused as to who was running the show. The Chief asked him to do it. “No thanks, I got it.”

  “Are you sure? We have staff here who can organize everything.”

  “Definitely, no. I’ll handle all that. Just have them call me.”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line followed by, “Suit yourself.”

  As soon as Max disconnected, Will said, “Ah, let me ask you this; I know this is a police thing and all, but can I bring my family here?”

  When Max and the Chief spoke, Max got the definite impression that the purpose of this whole thing was to offer safety and peace of mind to police department personnel so they would show up for work, not to protect the entire city workforce. But he also told Max that he was in charge.

  “Absolutely. Can I count on you helping us keep this monster up and running?”

  “Of course. Can I bring my RV and park it in the lot? I’m not too excited about sleeping on a cot, and I definitely know my wife won’t be.”

  Max nodded his head, “Okay, but not close to the fences. We need access and visual on the full perimeter. Also, I’m kinda flying by the seat of my pants here, so this might change, but you have to be responsible for you own food. Now if we start getting a bunch of people, then we’re probably going to have to create a community pantry,
so to speak, and cook community meals.”

  “Okay, yeah, anything else?”

  “Probably a million things, but off the top of my head, not right now. …Wait. You know what? People are going to be coming here because they’re scared, so they’re going to want to know what’s going on. TV and internet; can you get them up and running? Oh, and the security cameras, too.”

  “I’ll do it today. I’ll also bring my fifth-wheel in here by tonight.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JUNE 17TH

  Linh Briggs, the wife of Sergeant Walter Briggs, escorted her seven year-old daughter, Hao, from the substation’s conference room where everyone sat watching the TV screen. The day before, her daughter and husband picked her up at one of the decontamination centers where Linh had been taken after her office building was evacuated due to radiation. The tents, the disheveled people, the fire fighters in their protective gear, the DHS guards with their weapons strapped across their chests, had frightened Hao so much she had nightmares. Linh feared these new images on the screen would make things even worse for her daughter.

  A blond woman stood with microphone in-hand at a police barricade. In the background, over her left shoulder, there were ambulances and fire engines lined up, waiting. Closer to the camera, a DHS police officer wearing a black ball cap, dark glasses, holding a rifle at port arms, and outfitted in a black battle dress uniform, stood stone-faced, with his feet splayed, facing the camera.

  “At approximately fifteen minutes past the noon hour, a device, a bomb, some refer to as a dirty bomb, was detonated on the Las Vegas Strip near the intersection of Russell Road and Las Vegas Boulevard. Hundreds of people were in the immediate area at the time, so causalities are estimated to be over one hundred dead, with many more injured. Radioactivity was quickly detected …”

  Max’s phone rang, and he stepped from the room so as not to disturb the others. It had been ringing almost non-stop for the last hour. The total now was sixty-one people asking for shelter, ranging in age from seventy-two to three months. This, of course, included Anna and Louis Espinosa and their three kids, Raha Ahmadi with her three kids, Will and Greta Mason and their two boys, and Steve and Beth with their son Gavin. This particular call was from an officer named Justin Peavey, who had an unusual problem. He was asking for shelter for his ex-wife and their two kids, as well as for him and his current wife, Melanie.

  “Jeeze, do they at least get along?” Max asked.

  “Well, let me put it this way, they get along better with each other than either of them get along with me.”

  “You don’t have any more ex-wives do you?”

  “Not at the moment. But I can’t promise you that won’t change.”

  Max laughed. “Okay, well, I’ll leave their names at the gate. Steve’s there right now. He’ll let them in. Just make sure the adults bring ID. Here’s the thing, though, I don’t have a budget, so everyone has to kick in. Tell them to bring their own blankets and personal items; you know, soap, toothpaste, stuff like that. Sleeping is on cots, unless you bring your own bedding. Also, everything is community — bathrooms, kitchen, all the rooms. Some people have brought camp trailers or RVs for privacy and are staying out in the parking lot. One family even brought a tent they pitched inside one of the open rooms. A few others are just crapping out on the carpet in the second floor cubicles. Another thing; there are just too many people here to share the kitchen for meals, which means tomorrow night we’re gonna start community meals so we don’t have ten people trying to cook different meals all at the same time. That means we’re going to have to start collecting for food. Ten dollars a head per day or seventy per week; only way we can do it. And everyone is going to have to do something around here to keep things clean and operational, too. Any problem with that?”

  “Even me? I have to work, too? I’m working twelve-hour shifts as it is.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Peavey. Yeah, even you. It’s the only way we can make this work. Listen, you can take a turn for a couple of hours on the front gate. It’s easy, nothing to it.”

  Pause …

  “Hey, look, this is voluntary,” Max said. “Nobody is twisting your arm. Don’t come if you don’t want to. I don’t care.”

  That came out harsher than I meant it to sound, Max thought.

  “Yeah, okay, they’ll be there. Sometime tonight. Before dark.”

  Max walked back inside the conference room.

  “In related news, the Department of Homeland Security served a search warrant, the first in California issued by a federal magistrate under the new anti-terrorism laws, on a resident in Morgan Hill, California, a town just south of San Jose. There, authorities took into custody a man named Malcolm Polanski, who is the alleged head of the Bear Flag Patriots Brigade, a terrorist group. He and unnamed others are suspected of conspiracy to commit a terrorist act. An anonymous source at the scene, who was not authorized to give a statement, indicated that during the search of Mr. Polanski’s home, firearms, a large amount of ammunition, and a small amount of a controlled substance was recovered.”

  At this point, the camera view pulled back from its close-up of the on-scene reporter, revealing a sixtyish, potbellied, barefoot man in the background, wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt, being led away from the front of a house in handcuffs, while sporting a confused look on his face. He was being escorted by two DHS police officers. As the three of them got closer to the camera and their faces came into view, Max recognized Tattoo and Shorty as the two DHS officers walking with him.

  Yeah, right, Max thought. My ass they found a small quantity of a controlled substance. This of course reminded him of his encounter with Tattoo and Shorty, which in turn reminded him of the fact that Blogger hadn’t yet sent the photos to him. He made a mental note to give Blogger a call.

  The station announced a commercial break, and the scene immediately went to a beer ad.

  Max felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “How’re things going so far?”

  It was Myra.

  He turned, gave her a hug and kiss. In his ear she whispered, “Can I talk to you outside a second?”

  They stepped out and she said, “You have room for one more? When I’m not at work, maybe I can help out with medical.”

  “It’s camping conditions; cots and sleeping bags.”

  “No problem, I’m an outdoor kinda girl, but I also just happen to have one of those queen-size, pump-up mattresses. It’s big enough for two.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

  “Eww, I like that deal. I’ll even help you move in,” Max said. “Hey, in a couple of minutes I wanna check out the neighborhood to see what’s around us and then shoot over to Costco to pick some things up. You’re welcome to come with. Maybe we can stop at your place on the way back and load up whatever you need.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Max saw the TV switch back from the commercial break to the news, so he stepped back into the room. “I just want to hear this first.”

  “On the phone with us now is Gregory House, the attorney for Malcolm Polanski. Mr. House ….”

  “Yes, thank you for having me.”

  “So, do you have a comment for us regarding your client’s arrest today on charges of conspiracy to commit a terrorist act and drug charges?”

  “Well, these charges are simply preposterous, that’s all there is to it. We’re only left to guess what this foolish business is all about because they aren’t telling us anything, claiming national security, but what we suspect is they somehow intercepted an email he sent some friends. In this email he expressed the opinion that Americans are witnessing the destruction of our constitutional way of life and every able-bodied man and woman should arm themselves in case they have to defend their rights against a government run amuck. He started the message ‘To all Bear Flag Patriots’ because the bear, ah, it’s on California’s flag, right? It’s a grizzly I think. Yeah. Anyway, apparently his message is a popular one and once it went viral some pis
sant federal government functionary saw it and, well, you can see for yourself the result. And I might add, what’s being done to him by his own government is validation of his point of view.”

  “What about these other alleged charges, guns and drugs?”

  “Regarding the drugs; my client is a respected sixty-two year old dentist, a member of his community, and I’ve known him and his wife for over twenty years. There is no way he uses drugs. About guns, yes he owns guns, just like millions of other Americans do. Hell, I’ve shot skeet with him on several occasions myself. There is nothing illegal about it. This whole thing is completely overblown by the Justice Department.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. House. It’s certainly a story we’ll follow-up on. Now back to Las Vegas, the scene of the latest terrorist bombing.”

  Max and Myra, driving Max’s truck, stopped at the front gate, signed out, and told Steve to be expecting the arrival of Justin Peavey’s wife and ex-wife. Max also told Steve about the dentist being arrested on charges including the possession of a controlled substance and how he saw Tattoo and Shorty perp-walking the guy from the scene.

  “You know what?” Steve said. “We should have kicked both their asses while we had the chance and thrown them in county. Which reminds me; I got a call from the lieutenant in Narco, and he says he’s getting questions about our case on those assbites and is wondering where the photos are.” Steve spit tobacco into a paper coffee cup.

  “Yeah, okay, let me check right now while it’s on my mind,” Max said.

  Using his cellphone, he called the number Blogger had given him. After listening for a couple of seconds, he disconnected, brought the number back up on the screen, and checked it against his notes. He had dialed it correctly.

  “I got one of those messages saying the number’s no good.”