The Queen pbf-5

by Steven James

“Yeah, they’re in my room.”

  “I think maybe I could use one to calm down.”

  “Okay. Sure. They’re on my dresser. On the left.” Tessa scootched forward to retrieve them, but Amber stood first. “That’s all right. I’ve got it.”

  From the edge of the couch Tessa watched her stepaunt head toward the hallway, and then disappear into the shadows lingering just beyond the fire’s light.

  84

  8:26 p.m.

  34 minutes until the transmission

  I stared at the door.

  Rusted, located at the back of the Schoenberg Inn near the dumpsters beside the food service loading bay. Though the door had a keycard reader and a numbered touch pad, since it was just an unobtrusive exterior door around the back of the building, I imagined it wouldn’t draw much attention from anyone.

  That’s how they could transfer staff and supplies into and out of the base without being noticed. The thought gave me hope that there would be a motorized way to get to the base after all.

  Julianne, Lien-hua, and Weatherford stood beside me. He’d taken bribes, wasted our time, endangered lives. I was so angry with him, but I kept my mouth shut. I was on the brink of saying something I would seriously regret.

  “How much did the Navy pay you?” Lien-hua asked him irritably.

  “They don’t pay me, it’s just a condition of my employment.” He sounded rattled but also slightly defiant. “All I know is that the door is here. People come. They leave. I almost never even see ’em.” He gestured toward the flat surface of the door where a doorknob or handle should have been. “I don’t even know how to get in.”

  I do.

  “Get him to the sheriff’s department,” I said, pulling out the biometric ID card.

  Julianne began to escort Weatherford back to her cruiser, but as they reached a strip of ice just past the dumpster, he kicked at her leg and she went down hard.

  “Hey!” I yelled. I started for him, but he rabbited toward the woods, and with my ankle slowing me down, Lien-hua was able to pass me and get to him first. She tackled him with authority.

  I was moving toward her, but she shook her head. “Get that door open, Pat. We’ll take care of him. I’ll be right back.”

  She and Julianne hustled Weatherford out of sight around the edge of the building, and I went back to insert Donnie’s biometric ID card into the scanner.

  Tessa heard the water running in the bathroom sink.

  “Did you need one?” Amber called.

  “Naw, I actually took one earlier. Thanks.” Now that the topic had come up, Tessa realized she was starting to feel a little mellow, the medication-induced drowsiness catching up with her.

  “I’ll leave them here in the medicine cabinet.” Amber’s voice sounded more muted than it should have, as if the hungry darkness in the hallway were swallowing some of the sound.

  But Tessa did manage to hear the faint click as the medicine cabinet opened, and then another as Amber shut it again. And for some reason she thought of Patrick, of his mission to find that kidnapped woman. Though it was a little uncharacteristic of her, Tessa said a brief prayer for his success. And a short prayer too, for Amber, that she would be able to find the rest and peace that she needed tonight.

  The keycard didn’t open the lock.

  Instead, on the screen just above the number pad, a prompt came up asking me to enter a password, and I had no idea what that might be.

  Remembering the cipher I’d passed along to Angela and Lacey, I tried 27219.

  Nope.

  I entered Donnie’s work ID, the phone number we were tracking related to Valkyrie, even alphanumeric ways of spelling Queen, all to no avail.

  The clues circled around, sliding into place, then dislodging again.

  Squirming away.

  Revelation 21:9.

  What did it say again? Seven plagues? Seven vials?

  Maybe there’s something in that verse. Something you can use.

  Having left my computer in Julianne’s cruiser, I used my phone to pull up an online Bible: “And there came unto me one of the seven angels which had the seven vials full of the seven last plagues, and talked with me, saying, Come hither, I will shew thee the bride, the Lamb’s wife.”

  Seven angels. Seven vials. Seven plagues.

  I tried 777.

  No.

  As I scanned the next few lines I felt my heart plummet: “And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God.”

  Jerusalem?

  Is Jerusalem the bride? The queen?

  Pulse racing, I read the verses again, hoping to establish if that’s what the apostle John was referring to. It seemed to be, but I wasn’t certain of the interpretation, there might be more to Secretary of State Nielson is in Tehran this week…

  Iran and Israel? Is this something to do with Jerusalem and Tehran?

  Alexei had mentioned that Russia sold its military secrets to Iran.

  Jerusalem.

  The bride. The queen.

  What else had Alexei said? The Beriev A-60 can shoot down a satellite, even from hundreds of kilometers away… It heats the outer casing, causes structural damage.

  It was the Russian version of the Boeing YAL-1.

  None of this was certain, but if Alexei was right, it played in our favor. I called Margaret again and asked her to check on any Boeing YAL-1s we might have stationed in the Persian Gulf.

  She didn’t even question why I was asking this but took a minute to make a call on another line, then said, “No. That aircraft was only experimental. The program was scrapped. There are only a couple left at Edwards Air Force Base.”

  That was in California. “Hang on a sec.”

  A quick online search told me that the Vahdati Air Base was the closest Iranian Air Force base to Israel.

  That would be the most likely one.

  If you’re right, Pat-yes Timing… location…

  I told Margaret what I was thinking about Jerusalem, and she listened intently. “If anything happens,” I said, “Israel is going to strike back at the most likely country to fire a nuclear missile at them. Get in touch with Secretary of State Nielson. He needs to call his counterpart in Israel, get them to put up whatever missile defense shields they have around Jerusalem. And we’re going to need Iran to scramble some planes.”

  When I mentioned the Beriev A-60s Margaret scoffed at first but finally committed to calling Nielson. Before we hung up I remembered the web-based encrypted message from the base, realized there was a way to communicate with the outside world, and informed her I’d follow up as soon as I could. “Keep this line open.”

  She hung up and I saw Lien-hua jogging toward me, her sable hair whipping wildly behind her in the wind. “No luck?” she called, pointing to the door.

  “No. Any ideas?”

  She studied it. “Step back.” I was surprised to see her crouch into a ready position for kickboxing.

  “It’s a metal door.”

  “Step back, Pat.”

  “Lien-hua-”

  I saw the intensity in her eyes and I stepped back.

  She took a calming breath and then burst forward with a fierce front kick, landing her left foot against the door right beside the keycard reader. The impact didn’t appear to do any damage to the lock.

  “We need to find another way-”

  “Quiet.”

  I was quiet.

  She went at the door again, aiming for the lock itself, and when she kicked it, the door shuddered, but still the lock didn’t give. She backed up a third time, took a deep breath, then flew forward with a brutal spinning side kick, and this time when her foot smacked against the door I heard a pop inside the lock.

  Nice.

  If Eco-Tech used this entrance, they might have left someone to guard the entryway. I drew my weapon and pressed against the door to test it, but it wouldn’t give.

  “One more
shot,” she said softly.

  I moved aside, and she exploded toward the door-another carefully placed spinning side kick-and the lock finally shattered. Immediately, the door snapped open. She had her weapon out now too.

  “I never doubted you for an instant,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  I signaled that I’d go first; she covered me.

  “FBI!” I shouted into the darkness. “On the ground. Arms outstretched!”

  No verbal response. I drew out my Maglite and clicked it on, held it between my middle and ring fingers of my left hand, cap end against my palm so I could use a standard two-handed grip on my weapon.

  Swung through the doorway.

  Empty. Nothing, except a downward-sloping tunnel of hard-packed earth.

  So they could roll supplies in, I thought, once again hopeful that there’d be some means of transport to the base. It’s at least five miles. Surely they don’t just walk the whole way…

  Before going any farther I contacted Tait to get backup on the way, but in this weather I knew that’d take awhile and I wasn’t about to stand around here waiting for them.

  “Let’s go,” I told Lien-hua.

  Weapons drawn and ready, we entered the tunnel.

  One of the interrogators searching Terry’s room discovered the spliced section of cord from the lamp beside his bed, the wires Terry had used to charge the cell phone.

  “He’s got something here,” he announced. “And I want it found. Now!”

  Terry watched the three men carefully, noting which of them appeared least vigilant about keeping his weapon protected.

  The youngest agent, a guy Terry had heard the others refer to as Riley, seemed to fit the bill.

  It wouldn’t be easy, Terry decided, and he might not be able to kill all three men before they could get a shot off at him, but if it came down to it, he was willing to take that chance rather than risk having them move him out of here before Abdul’s militants arrived.

  “We do this,” Cane said into the camera, wrapping up the video, “to show the world that time is running out and that action, swift and decisive, must be taken to assure the survival of our species, the survival of our planet. If a small group of activists can break into and disarm one of the most secure weapons systems in the world, someone else could break in as well and use the weapons to cause apocalyptic harm. There is no sure and certain way to secure nuclear weapons. They must be dismantled. They must be destroyed. The time in human history has come for us to rise above our base instincts of survival and self-preservation and move toward a more peaceful, nuke-free world for the sake of our children and the future of our race.”

  Solstice heard the spiel but wasn’t really listening to it. Instead, she was thinking about the launch that would occur in just over thirty minutes.

  Threats in today’s cyberworld aren’t often identified until the last minute, so the military’s decision cycle of observe-orient-decide-act, or OODA, is infinitely compressed and has to happen almost simultaneously. There are no “T-minus ten… nine

  … eight” countdowns, like in the movies. Not these days.

  In real life, nuclear weapon launches are immediate and rather anticlimactic things. A couple of keys are turned, a couple of buttons are pressed-a bit of computer code flits through a system-and the silo or submarine door opens and the missile is on its way.

  And so, tonight, the ELF signal carrying the launch codes would arrive at the sub, the malware would initiate the launch sequence, and the missile would fire.

  Simple.

  Immediate.

  Irreversible.

  Cane concluded his talk, Gale stepped away from the camera, and Solstice assessed the room. “Start up the electromagnetic generator. And get Pickron back down here. Let’s send this message of peace to the world.”

  85

  8:31 p.m.

  29 minutes until the transmission

  Passing beneath the hotel, Lien-hua and I found ourselves in a tunnel that reminded me of the abandoned gold mine I’d been in last year on a case in which I’d been chasing a killer in the mountains west of Denver. Eventually I’d stopped him, but not before he tried to bury me alive in the mine.

  Not the best memory at the moment.

  The air smelled damp and earthy, but the ground underfoot was hard and dry. The windchill outside the hotel had been below zero, but in here the temperature hovered in the midfifties, but because it would be too cumbersome to carry our jackets, we kept them on.

  Our flashlights allowed us to see about twenty-five meters. All looked clear.

  Given the distance we were from the ELF site in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, I’d never be able to walk the whole way on this ankle. Even if the tunnel went directly to “There, Pat, look.” Lien-hua pointed. A narrow-gauge railroad track was just barely visible at the far edge of our light.

  I quickened my pace. “That’s it.”

  As we moved forward, I shared my speculation about Jerusalem being the queen, and Lien-hua listened intently. I could see that the track disappeared around a gentle bend in the tunnel. Still no one in sight. She said to me softly, “I need to know something: did Amber tell you she was planning to leave Sean?”

  “She left me a note this morning.”

  There has to be a cart or something. There has to be.

  “A note.”

  “Yes.”

  We were beginning to make our way around the tunnel’s curve. Still no sign of anyone from Eco-Tech. “She was testing the waters,” Lien-hua observed, “coming to you last night, seeing if there was anything still there, any possibility of making things work with you.”

  “There isn’t any possibility. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I want to be with. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Honestly, Pat, I do.”

  I wasn’t certain how this night was going to play out, and I couldn’t shake Anton’s words that the future is uncertain, that you never know what might happen, that you need to seize the day. So as we approached the tracks, I whispered, “Lien-hua, if for some reason I don’t make it out of here tonight, I want you to know-”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Seriously, there’s something I was-”

  “Pat. Stop.”

  “Listen, I know this is a bad time, but I was gonna ask you if-”

  “Patrick. You know I don’t like talk about finality and failure.” Her words were unequivocal. “Whatever it is, tell me later. When this is over.”

  I recalled our conversation at the motel about twists at the end of the story, when everything you thought was true turns out to be a giant house of cards, when hope that seemed guaranteed disappears in a final dramatic plunge.

  No, she’s right, Pat. This isn’t the time. Make it special. Make it right.

  “Okay. Later, then,” I consented at last. “When this is over.”

  We finished rounding the bend, and I saw what I’d been hoping to find: resting on the track twenty meters away was a small motorized platform built to transport people or supplies.

  The railcar was simple-four steel wheels attached to a metal base about two meters square. A handrail rested on narrow supports that skirted the perimeter of the platform. On the left, a control panel sat above a small but powerful-looking motor. Two operating lights hung from the railing, one on the front of the cart, the other on the back, to light the way when traveling in either direction on the track.

  Stretching beyond the railcar, the tunnel disappeared in a straight southeasterly direction. “It must go under the Chippewa River,” I muttered.

  Lien-hua climbed onto the platform and approached the control panel. “I’ll drive.”

  I stepped up beside her. “That’s good by me.”

  It took her only seconds to figure out how to start the motor. When she did, the two electric running lights flicked on and a yellowish glow appeared in front of and behind us.

  “How fast do you think this thing can go?�
� I asked.

  “Let’s find out.” She throttled forward, and the sound of the motor filled the passageway. It wasn’t as loud as I expected, but it was noisy enough that it’d make it difficult to talk during the trip.

  Flicking off our flashlights, we both kept our guns out and ready.

  And we accelerated toward the ELF station.

  Amber had completely stopped crying, and for some reason that made Tessa uneasy. The fire flicked, danced before them.

  She believes in God, Tessa thought, in forgiveness, in all that.

  “So I read some of the Bible tonight,” Tessa said tentatively.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I sorta stole one from the motel.”

  “You stole a Bible?”

  “Pathetic, huh?”

  A slight grin. “Well, I’m sure that’s one thing you can be forgiven for.”

  “Actually, that’s what I was reading about. Forgiveness.”

  “Oh, and is that why you mentioned you stole it?” Amber sounded amused, and that heartened Tessa. “To transition to the topic?”

  Busted.

  “Um. Maybe.”

  The fire flickered. Snapped. “What were you reading?”

  “A story about this woman who crashed a party where Jesus was eating supper. Everyone thought she was a terrible sinner, I guess, I don’t know, a prostitute. And she was weeping on his feet and drying them with her hair.”

  “I know it. That’s a powerful story.”

  “So yeah, and Jesus starts talking about how those who’ve been forgiven much love much, right? But that those who haven’t been forgiven much-or don’t realize that they have-don’t end up expressing much love.”

  Amber listened, watched the flames devour the wood Patrick had carried in from the shed.

  “Here’s the part I don’t get. Jesus says that the woman was forgiven because she loved much. But given the context, it should’ve been the other way around-that she loved much because she’d been forgiven much, because that’s what he’d just explained.” She waited to see if Amber would comment. When she didn’t, Tessa continued, “So which comes first, forgiveness or love?”

  Amber sat for a long time, and the silence unsettled Tessa.