by T C Miller
“Didn’t realize there was so little coverage out there.”
“Well, it is the middle of the freaking ocean.”
“Whoa, there, pardner…Wasn’t criticizing…”
“Sorry, I’m a little on edge. Between running this office and dealing with obnoxious assholes from other agencies, I’m wound a couple turns too tight.”
“Hear that…Put up with the same bull in the Air Force.”
“I guess you’d understand the politics. Anyway, we spotted the trawler rigging up an aerial catch system…”
“You mean like we used with C-130s…The Fulton Surface to Air System, or STARs.”
“Exactly, except they’re doing it from a ship…Same set-up used during Vietnam to snatch downed pilots from enemy territory. Trawler had the balloon and riggin’ ready to go…Didn’t see them actually do it, but radar at the time indicated a slow, low-flying aircraft in the vicinity. All though, you couldn’t pick up more than a few hundred pounds at a time with it.”
“Guess diamonds or currency’d fit the bill.”
“True…Just seems like an awful lot of trouble…and not exactly cheap.”
“Whatever they’re running, must be worth it. How long’s this operation been going on, do you think?”
“No telling. Peters bought the first trawler about fifteen years ago, but could’ve been using it for some other smuggling. Bought the second one six years ago.”
“That’d more or less fit in with the current setup. What about crew…Can you track them?”
“Not really. Kind of men he hires come from all over the world…have more aliases than check bouncers…Hard to tell who they really are and where they’ve been. Could be recruiting them right out of the gulags, the old Soviet prisons…Lot of ‘em still being used by local officials.”
“Well, guess I’d better get back to poking around…Got anything else for me?”
“I don’t usually say this to operatives and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way…Be careful. Bad guys in this game play hard and fast. Don’t trust anyone, especially somebody who seems a little too friendly… More than anywhere, looks can be deceiving. I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I mean it…Stay on your toes and don’t let the bad guys get you.”
“Funny…old commander of mine used to say that at guard mount…Also had a plaque on his desk that read, ‘The Most Exhilarating Thing in the World is To Be Shot At Without Success’.”
“I like that…In fact, I may steal it, if you don’t mind.”
“Have at it…I stole it from him. I need to get back to work, though…Dig up some more intel.”
“Good luck…and remember, you’re not alone out there. We got your back…So call anytime. If things get really hot, I’ll send in a QRT.”
“Huh?”
“Quick Response Team…Our idea of SWAT.”
“Thought it might be something like that…All right, then, talk atcha later.” With that, Bart hung up. Sure am impressed with the NSA people. He closed the hidden compartments in preparation for another walk around town.
LINCOLN TOWN CAR
SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA They settled into the car a few minutes later—after Vladya disabled the microphones hidden in the dash and overhead courtesy light. Rick turned to his new employee. “You were warning me about surveillance devices in home?”
“Yes. He records everything, especially from employees. Tells me I must watch and report bad words others say about him.”
“Do they…and do you tell him?”
“They say usual things of boss…‘Why does he not pay more?’ ‘Why must I work night shift so much?’ Petty things, to be sure. Sometimes I hear stronger words from three guards, but I don’t say these things to Gregori…He would be angry and might throw them from cliff.”
“What do the three say?”
“They talk about getting rid of Gregori and being boss. I think is just talk with no action. But these are not wise things to say about boss.”
“Would they replace him?”
“I think not. They say they will share being Bacc, but they are ignorant peasants…They do not have skills to run complicated business like smuggling. I think they would fight and kill each other.”
“Would they obey new leader?”
“They will follow boss who pays more…They are but skilled criminals with simple minds.”
“Talk to each of them alone…Do not mention my name, but tell them of boss who will pay double what Gregori pays…Then you must tell me what they say…I will give them what Amerikans say is ‘signing bonus’…Pay of one year when they swear to follow me…Will that be adequate?”
“For that, I think they will kill their father and maybe their mother.” He followed the remark with a guttural laugh.
Rick smiled back. There’s that dark sense of humor mercenaries have.
“For such amount, I might kill my father. Of course, he was drunken lout who beat my mother and me all the time.”
Guess I haven’t lost my touch…And thanks to Gregori, I have someone who looks like me. “Who are others who might work for me?”
“I know four, maybe five more who would work for you, how do Amerikans say, ‘in heartbeat’…Should I speak to them?”
“Yes, but they must not tell other members of gang…I will reveal them to each other when time is right.”
“Da, Bacc. So, I should drive where?”
“Drive south…I will tell you when we get to town. There is also other place we must visit.” My gut tells me Vladya is not a double agent for Gregori…I’ll trust that. “I will show you vehicle and trailer which must be moved closer.” Rick settled back in the seat and went over the details in his mind. He could execute the plan with just him and Vladya, but he would feel more comfortable with three or four others. Working with mercenaries is easy…Keep the pay high enough, they’ll do anything you ask. The curving road followed the lay of the land on bridges stretched over inlets and around craggy cliffs that threatened to send truck-sized boulders crashing down on the pavement at any moment. It was a metaphor for life—beauty in contrast to danger. He smiled to himself, closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun coming through the windshield.
***
CHAPTER 19
SEAWIND BAY, CALIFORNIA Bart expertly pulled Eagle One into Joe Barsconi’s gas station and lined up the bay that held the fuel tank filler with the diesel pump. He killed the engine, set the parking brake and listened as the air brake tank released the pressure that held the brake shoes away from the wheels. He started to rise out of the driver’s seat when Nora put her hand on his arm.
“Don’t think Joe’s here,” she said. “Lights are off and I don’t see the dog.”
“Maybe he took the day off to go fishing or something.” “The dog?”
“Funny…No, both.”
“Doesn’t seem like the type to do that.”
“True…Might could be he’s sick.”
“Possible…Wonder who’d look in on him, if he is? Maybe we should swing by the house and check.”
“Good idea.” The engine fired up smoothly and air pressure came up in an instant. He released the brakes and let out the ceramic clutch to engage second gear of the ten-speed Road Runner transmission. The bus moved forward and swung out onto the street.
Less than five minutes later he pulled up as close to the curb in front of Joe’s house as possible. “Might be here…Tow truck’s in the driveway.”
“Yes, but the shades are drawn, like nobody’s home.” “Only way to find out is knock.”
He knocked—waited a minute and rapped again—still no
answer. “Let’s try the back.” They stepped off the concrete block stoop and walked around the side of the house. A rust-eaten old car of indeterminate make and model sat up on concrete blocks. It had been stripped of everything of value, including the engine. Bart walked around the other side of the wreck and glanced in, more out of habit than anything. He held up his hand in a ges
ture that warned Nora there was something wrong.
She moved slowly forward and looked through the empty frame of what once was the windshield. Joe Barsconi’s body was lying where the front seat of the automobile should be. Don’t have to check his pulse to know he’s gone. Eyes were open wide in a lifeless stare and skin that was ruddy in complexion was now a ghostly gray. His mouth hung open and tautly stretched in a look that was a cross between surprise and a grimace.
She moved closer. “Don’t see any obvious signs of trauma…Looks like he was hiding from somebody…Think it was natural causes?”
“Old as Joe was…guess it could be…Though I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it. Dime to a dollar, I’d say it was somethin’ else. You’d have to ask what in the world he was doing in there.”
“Whatever happened, he can’t tell us…Let’s see if we can get into the house…Might be some clues.”
“Yeah,” Bart replied. “Nothing else, need to check his phone line for taps and have John Banner pull a record of his calls…Might could tell us why Joe was hiding out here, if he was.”
“Does seem awfully convenient for Peters and Eichner that Joe would pass away right when we’re closing in on them.”
“True…I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Me neither…What about Joe?”
“Not going anywhere fast…Let’s go poke around in the house a little…Then we’ll ask Banner’s…I mean, our people to make an anonymous call to the local cops.”
Nora followed him toward the back door. They walked around the back of the house and found a weathered old screen door that opened with the screeching sound of rusty hinges. He pushed gently against the plain wooden panel door and it moved a little. He pushed again and made an opening wide enough to slip in. The house was silent as they moved into the semi-darkened kitchen.
His eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light, but he sensed something on the floor in front of him and reached for his flashlight at the same time Nora found the light switch. They had nearly tripped over the lifeless body of one of Greg Peter’s henchmen. A cast iron skillet lay next to the body and a dark pool of blood was puddled under the head. Pieces of broken skull and gray matter were mixed in the blood and Bart guessed death had come quickly to the bad guy.
Nora bent down to retrieve a hypodermic needle from the dead hands of the criminal and stood. “Empty. I wonder if he stuck Joe with it and Joe managed to cream him with that frying pan before it kicked in?”
“Anything’s possible…Could be he hid in the old car, waiting for the others to leave.”
“Guess we won’t know ‘til the lab guys do their thing. Let’s take a quick look around, then get the heck out of here…I’m starting to get the creeps with not just one, but now two dead bodies.”
The house was small, and it took them less then ten minutes to search it. The only thing of note was a hidey-hole dug into the wall behind a night stand in the bedroom. It held an ancient five-shot pistol, some personal papers and two old wedding rings. The pistol looked like it hadn’t been fired since before Nixon was president.
Bart scratched his head. “I wonder why Joe didn’t go for the gun?”
“Maybe they jumped him when he got home and he didn’t get the chance.”
“Might could be…Still, if Joe felt threatened, you’d think he’d carry the pistol on him.”
“Maybe he figured he’d been making a fuss long enough they were ignoring him.”
“I can see that. One way or ‘nother, didn’t do him any good.”
Nora wiped the gun clean and stuck it back into the hiding place. She left the night stand out far enough that even the most inept investigator would see the hole.
Bart took a last look around and motioned for Nora to follow him. “Been here long enough…Let’s head on back to the bus and call Banner.”
They walked through the living room and turned toward the back door. Something about the kitchen seemed different, but Bart couldn’t quite put his finger on it. As he crossed the threshold, it dawned on him too late. We left the back door open…now it’s closed.
He stepped through the doorway and a staggering blow to the back of his head caused his knees to buckle. A needle prick to his neck started a slow-motion fall to the floor. Blackness closed in on him quickly and he barely heard the sounds of a struggle. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was Nora shouting out a late warning to him.
The time that went by could have been measured in minutes or days, as far as Bart was concerned. Consciousness slowly returned as he sat up and looked warily around the kitchen. He listened carefully, but no sounds came from the rest of the house. The wail of an approaching siren encouraged him to stand, in spite of the dizziness and nausea that hung around him like a swarm of angry bees. He moved toward the window on wobbly legs and saw a police car coming down the street. Gotta find her…Can’t lose a son and a wife. He stumbled down the steps and was almost to the front street as the car screeched to a halt behind his bus. A sheriff’s deputy sprang from the car and drew his weapon.
“Hold it right there, mister…Put your hands on your head and don’t move.”
Bart stared at the deputy. Sounds like he’s at the bottom of a deep well…He extended his left hand toward the deputy, “Wait, I’m the good guy here.”
“I told you to put your hands on your head and keep them there…Don’t make me say it again.”
Bart slowly placed his hands on his head as the deputy approached him. Damned drugs messing with my mind.
The deputy moved behind him and started to handcuff him. Better not challenge his authority…Let this play out. The hesitation turned out to be a wise move—a quick glance revealed the other deputy pointing a .357 Colt Python at him. Bart relaxed and let the first deputy finish putting the restraints on him. He slowly dropped his hands and turned to face the deputy. “Okay,pardner, now can we talk?”
“Not much to say…Pretty obvious why we’re here.”
“May be clear to you,but not to me…Why’d you cuff me?”
The deputy, whose name tag said Owens hesitated. “Not sure if we’re taking take you in…Need to figure out what’s going on here.”
Bart’s head was starting to clear. “Take a look in that old car…See if it helps.”
Owens’ partner moved over to the door of the derelict truck and glanced inside. “Ain’t nothin’ there but some old junk.”
Bart was starting to become exasperated with the ineptitude of the small-town deputies. “Push some of it aside and you’ll see.” He said it slowly, as if trying to explain it to a child.
“Don’t know what your problem is, Mister…Ain’t nothing here but junk.”
“Wait just a dog-gone minute, then…Why the hell are y’all here?”
“Office in Point Arena got a call saying shots fired and we should check it out…What were you doing in there, anyway?”
“In where?”
“We saw you come around front…Figured you were sneaking out the back way,” the deputy stammered.
“Well, you figured wrong…Tried the front door and nobody answered…Went around back and knocked on the door, looking for Joe Barsconi.”
“Old guy that runs the gas station?”
“Guess everybody calls him old. Yeah, he’s supposed to help me change the generator belt on my bus…Kind of a two-man job. Was gonna meet me at the station over an hour ago. It’s closed up tight, so thought I’d come on over here to see if he’s home…Guess not…At least, he’s not answering the door.”
“Wait right here…I’ll call Dispatch with your ID…See if they know what’s going on.”
Bart stood as patiently as he could while Owens used the radio. He came back a few minutes later—pulled a key ring out, unlocked the cuffs and put them back in his belt pouch. “Look, Agent Winfield, I’m sorry about this…Didn’t realize you were a Fed…Should have identified yourself. You know how it is, you get a shots-fired call…You can’t be too ca
reful.”
“I hear that. Shots fired, huh? Hope it’s just some yahoo celebrating his birthday. Guess I’ll go back by the station…See if ol’ Joe showed up.”
“Sure. Where you staying…Case we need to follow up?”
“Over the hills at Mountain Sunset RV Park, Space 43…You know it?”
“Been there many a time on a noise call. You alone?”
“No, wife’s with me. Need to look for her, now.
“My, that sure is a beauty.” The deputy took a step toward the bus. “Think I could take a peek inside? Never seen the inside of one of these rigs…Like all the big stars use, right?”
“Maybe some other time…Inside’s a mess, and there’s some classified material that’s not put away…Looks pretty much like any RV inside, though. Besides, don’t you need to look for old Joe?”
“Oh, yeah, almost forgot…Gonna be around town long?”
“Not really…Planning on leaving soon as I get the belt fixed.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that…Like I said, maybe some other time.” Bart waved to the other deputy and headed for the bus. Need to call John…Wonder which agency he said I worked for?
The door to the bus had been unlocked with a key and the security system was unarmed. He let himself in and called out to Nora. There was no answer, so he fired up the diesel engine to let the air tanks charge.
It only took a moment to lock the entry door and set the alarm before he pushed aside the privacy curtain and started into the interior of the coach. He stepped inside and nearly tripped over the body of Joe Barsconi. Figured they’d find him and arrest me…Another complication for Banner to smooth out.
The deputies were still nosing around the yard and might eventually decide they needed to look in the bus—enough reason to move away from the area. He returned to the driver’s seat, put Eagle One in gear and headed toward the Mountain Sunset RV Park. It would be easier to hide the bus among the other RV’s at the rally and give him time to contact Banner.