by J B Black
Reb put on his best shit eating grin and said, “In that case, forget what I just said.”
“Moving right along then, if it was me,” Billy said, “using the cargo ship’s loading crane, I’d hoist the drug sub right out of the water, set it down on the deck of the cargo ship, and load it up with the drugs right there on the deck. Then, after it’s loaded, I’d lower it right back down to the sea and be on my merry way.”
“What about the sub’s pilot?” Reb asked.
“I’m betting he gets off the drug sub and boards one of the smaller escort boats before they lift the sub onto the cargo ship, and then boards the sub again, after they lower it back down,” Billy replied.
“So, the way I’ve got it figured is we’ll leave the poker game early tomorrow night, around ten o’clock, so we can get a head start on the convoy. Using the Revenge’s radar system, we’ll look for a cargo ship that’s loitering off Alabama Point about 30 miles out in the Gulf. We’ll go on out to where it is, and make out like we’re trolling for fish, until the drug convoy shows up. Once they hoist the drug sub on board the cargo ship, we’ll move to within a half a mile of the cargo ship. After they lower the sub back down to the water, and, while they’re detaching the hoisting rig from it, the escort boat that has the sub’s pilot on board is going to move in so the pilot can get back onto the sub.
“Once the drug sub is back in the water, the one thing we can’t let happen is for the pilot—or anyone else for that matter—to get back on board the sub.”
“I’ll bite, why’s that?” Reb asked.
“These drug smuggling boys have a nasty habit of scuttling their boats whenever it looks like they’re going to get captured. They’ll send the boat and the drugs to the bottom of the sea to avoid the mandatory twenty-year to life in prison sentence they’d get if they got caught with the drugs. That’s why no one’s captured one so far and why the reward for the capture of one is so high.
“Before the escort boat with the sub’s pilot on board can get close enough to the drug sub for him to get back on board, we’ll open fire on them. If we’re lucky, the other boats will cut and run when they see what happens to their buddies.”
“And if they don’t?” Reb asked.
“We’ll take them out, too,” Billy said. “Anyway, whatever hoisting rig the cargo ship uses to raise and lower the sub, one or more crewmembers from the ship has to ride the hoisting rig down to the water to attach it to and detach it from the sub. I’m thinking that the rig they use has fenders attached to it that drape down the side of the sub to protect it from banging into the cargo ship on the way up and down. Once the sub has been lowered back down, as soon as it’s in the water, those men will be detaching the hoisting rig from the sub. While they’re doing that, one of those escort boats with the sub’s pilot on board will be moving into position to get him back aboard the sub. What I think will happen is, as soon as the hoisting rig has been detached from the sub, one of the men from the cargo ship is going to throw a line from the sub over to the escort boat carrying the sub’s pilot so they can pull the sub a safe distance away from the cargo ship before the sub’s pilot tries to get back on board the sub. When the escort boat stops and they start pulling the tow line attached to the sub to draw the sub alongside the escort boat so the pilot can clamber aboard—that’s when we’ll open fire.”
* * *
When Reb and Billy arrived at The Farm, Reb drove around to the rear of the old farm house. He drove past the newly built three-car garage and backed in as close as he could get to the back porch steps before turning the SUV off.
“I don’t remember there being a garage here the last time I was out here,” Billy said. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing that brick chimney on the side of the house before, either.”
“You’re right on both counts,” Reb said. “I had the garage built on top of the survival bunker I had installed. The brick chimney was built to conceal the entrance from the house down to the bunker.”
“Damn, Reb,” Billy said, “what do you need a survival bunker for?”
“Well, Billy, it’s like this,” Reb said, “I keep so many weapons out here at The Farm, and I’m not out here all that often, and I needed a safe place to keep everything when I’m not here … so, long story short, I got me a survival bunker to store my guns. The way I figure it is, if I had a gun safe in the house, thieves could haul it off, but, with my survival bunker, a thief would have a hard time finding it and, even if they did, I don’t think they could get inside it very easily. Plus, the way things are in the world now, I figure it doesn’t hurt to have a survival bunker, just in case everything goes to hell in a handbasket.”
“Makes sense,” Billy admitted.
They got out of Reb’s SUV, went up the steps, and walked across the porch to the back door. Reb unlocked the door and they went into the kitchen. Reb led the way through the kitchen into the dining room. On the wall on the right side of the dining room, there was a large oak wardrobe. It was as tall as the ceiling, six feet wide, and extended four feet out from the wall into the dining room.
Reb walked over to the wardrobe and pressed a concealed button causing the front of the wardrobe to swing open like a door. When the door opened, a light inside came on, automatically. Reb walked inside—with Billy right behind him—and started going down a narrow flight of stairs on the left side of the interior of the wardrobe. On the right-hand side of the interior, set back three feet from the entranceway, was a door.
“What’s the door to?” Billy asked, as he followed behind Reb going down the stairs.
“That’s the door for the heavy-duty dumbwaiter I had installed so I wouldn’t have to haul stuff up and down these steps.”
“Looks like you thought of pretty much everything,” Billy said as they continued down the steps.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they were at one end of a six-foot wide by seven-foot high tunnel that ran parallel to the house from the dining room back toward the kitchen. The tunnel was illuminated by three ceiling-mounted, industrial-grade, metal cage light fixtures burning one hundred watt incandescent light bulbs. The floor, walls, and ceiling of the basement were made of reinforced concrete and had a grayish color.
“Damn, that’s a pretty good trip down all those steps,” Billy said.
“The floor we’re standing on is seventeen feet below grade,” Reb said. “Had to get this deep underground so there’d be ten feet of dirt covering my survival bunker. Not to mention the four-inch-thick concrete slab foundation for the three-car garage on top of it.”
Reb and Billy walked to the end of the tunnel. Parked up against the end wall of the tunnel was a large four-wheeled platform dolly with a handle for pushing it.
On the left wall, just five feet before the end of the tunnel, was a heavy metal door built into the reinforced concrete wall. Reb took out his keys and unlocked the door.
The metal door was the house-side, non-emergency, main entrance to the prefabricated survival bunker Reb had purchased from a firm in Texas. The bunker—a 40-foot-long galvanized corrugated steel pipe with a 10-foot diameter—had been shipped from the manufacturer in Texas on a flat-bed trailer and set in the large hole that had been excavated off the side of the house where the living room, dining room and kitchen were situated. The survival bunker was laid out perpendicular to the side of the old farmhouse. After the bunker had been positioned in the hole and the hole filled in with 10 feet of dirt, Reb had a contractor put in place a four-inch reinforced concrete slab on top of the spot where the bunker was buried. Reb then had the contractor build a 3-car garage on top of the slab. One of the bunker’s two emergency escape hatches was located inside the garage, exiting through the concrete slab floor of the garage, and was disguised as a large floor drain covered by a grate.
Reb went inside the bunker’s mudroom, hit the light switch, and headed for the bunker’s armory, with Billy following. The armory was really nothing more than a location near the
main entrance of the bunker where the manufacturer, at Reb’s instruction, had mounted a couple of gun safes along the wall. Inside the gun safes, there were several rifles, shotguns, and handguns.
After Reb unlocked the gun safe closest to the entrance, he removed the two hardsided gun cases that held his and Honey’s Barretts equipped with the Day/Night scopes Jake Gant had sent to him recently. He handed them to Billy who carried them back out into the tunnel and placed them on the four-wheeled platform dolly.
While Billy was loading the gun cases with the Barretts onto the platform dolly, Reb took two M4 carbines—sent to him by his buddy, Jake Gant—out of the gun safe and placed them inside an empty gun case, then set the gun case by the door.
Reb opened the second gun safe and removed a large hardsided carrying case that had a decal of a skull and cross bones on the side of it. He placed it by the door next to the gun case with the M4s.
Reb then walked over to a large metal storage cabinet where he kept his stock of ammunition and removed a hand truck with four large size ammo boxes strapped to it. One box was full of pre-loaded magazines for the Barretts. One box was full of pre-loaded magazines for the M4s. One box was full of loose .50 caliber rounds. One box was full of loose 5.56mm rounds. Reb rolled the hand truck over to the door to the mudroom and manhandled it over the entrance.
Reb went back inside the main part of the bunker and closed the doors to the gun safes and the ammunition storage locker.
When Reb went back out into the mudroom, he saw that Billy had already gotten the two carrying cases he’d left by the door. Reb grabbed the hand truck loaded with the ammo and hauled it out of the bunker and into the tunnel, where Billy was just wrapping up securing the four carrying cases to the platform dolly, using the bungee cords that had been hanging from the handle for that express purpose.
After Reb locked the outer door to the bunker, he and Billy pushed the platform dolly loaded with gun cases and the hand truck loaded with ammo back down to the other end of the tunnel.
Alongside the stairway was an enclosed elevator shaft for the dumbwaiter. Reb opened the door to the dumbwaiter and he and Billy offloaded their gear into it. Reb closed the door and pushed the button to send the dumbwaiter upstairs with their gear.
It didn’t take long for Reb and Billy to load everything in the back of Reb’s SUV. They then drove down the tree-lined dirt road that led from the farmhouse to Reb’s shooting range.
* * *
When they got to the range, Reb parked behind the shooting shed. He and Billy then grabbed the Barretts along with a box full of pre-loaded 10-round magazines and walked over to Reb’s custom shooting bench. Billy took his seat on the left side of the bench and Reb sat on the right.
Billy said, “Reb I’ve got to hand it to you. Every time I’ve been out here at your shooting range I’ve noticed how well you keep this place maintained.”
“Thanks, Billy, I was just out here last week bush hogging the field out there,” Reb said. “I guess you noticed I didn’t put the short distance target stands back up.”
The shooting range had been built in what had been a pasture at one time. When Reb purchased The Farm, the pasture had been neglected for some time and was overgrown with tall grass and weeds. Before he could start construction on the shooting range, Reb had to have someone come in with a tractor equipped with a bush hog to mow the field overgrown with tall grass and weeds. Later, Reb bought his own tractor and a bush hog, and, about once a month or so, Reb would bring his tractor with the bush hog attachment up to the shooting range and mow all of the grass and weeds down to keep it at a manageable height. Whenever he mowed the field, Reb had to take down the target stands for the ten feet, twenty-five feet, and 100 feet distances he shot at with his handguns and his AR-15.
“Yeah, I noticed them missing,” Billy said. “But I see that those red, round spinning steel plate targets way out there in front of the backstop berm are still up.”
On the other side of the field, 900 feet from the shooting shed, Reb had constructed an earthen berm backstop, as a safety precaution, to prevent any rounds that made it that far down range from going any further and possibly doing any unintended damage to persons or property. Reb had setup a target stand with spinning steel plate targets right in front of the berm so he could practice his long-range shooting with the Barretts.
“That’s what we’ll be shooting at,” Reb said.
Reb brought out an electronic touchscreen pad that was about twice the size of a smartphone and connected it to the Day & Night scope on his Barrett with a cable.
“These scopes have a built in ballistic calculator and LASER range finder,” Reb said. “Using the menu displayed on this pad, I’ve already dialed in the ballistic data for the ammunition we’ll be using tonight—drag function, ballistic coefficient, the bullet’s weight, initial velocity, that kind of stuff.
“After we enter the environmental data—relative humidity, wind speed, wind direction, temperature, barometric pressure, and altitude, which we’ll do again when we get out on the water tomorrow night—then we lase the target to get the range data. The scope’s internal computer takes that data, along with the ballistic data, makes its calculations, and adjusts the cross hairs that display on the scope’s digital screen so that when you put the cross hairs on your intended target, that’s where your bullet will end up, if everything works like it’s supposed to.”
“Damned if that’s not pretty nifty,” Billy said.
“Yeah, where would we be without modern technology on the battlefield?” Reb replied.
Reb entered the environmental data into his scope first with Billy closely watching what he did. Then Reb looked on as Billy entered the same information into his scope. Reb wasn’t surprised when Billy got it right on the first attempt.
Over the course of the next hour and five ten-round magazines each, Reb and Billy tried to outdo the other by keeping the targets spinning as long as they could before running out of ammunition. By the time they were done, Reb was confident Billy was comfortable with the Barrett and the Day/Night scope, and, more importantly, Billy was satisfied he was familiar enough with the big caliber weapon that he could depend upon it in a firefight.
CHAPTER 9
The West Wing
Washington, D.C.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
9 a.m. EDT
Geoff Barnswallow, a senior political advisor to the President, was sitting behind the desk in his private office in the West Wing of the White House. Geoff watched as his eight o’clock appointment settled into the seat of one of the leather armchairs on the other side of the desk.
His visitor, Henrietta Sudd, the notorious civil rights attorney, had called late the previous day requesting today’s early morning meeting. It was short notice for a meeting with someone in the White House as important as Geoff was, but Henrietta Sudd was a major force in the party and had some sway with the President. For decades Henrietta Sudd had made her living as a professional rabble rouser—a very good living if you asked Henrietta—profiting from the racial tensions in the country. Henrietta had a reputation for being responsible for a great deal of the racial division that currently existed in the country. She had a history of race-baiting, throwing gasoline on the fires of racial discontent, and then fanning the flames until the situation turned into a conflagration. Henrietta Sudd was someone who could create a problem where none had existed, before her arrival on the scene. Nevertheless, she was a highly paid consultant to a large number of America’s leading corporations that wanted to avoid the stigma of being accused of being racist. And more importantly—as far as Geoff was concerned—Henrietta Sudd had been appointed by the President to his Council for Race Relations in America.
“I guess I won’t be meeting with the President,” Henrietta said.
“Sorry, Henrietta, but the President had a more pressing matter to attend to,” Geoff replied.
“Playing golf with some celebrity I imagine.”
&nb
sp; Geoff shrugged and said, “So, what can I do for you this morning, Henrietta?”
“Geoff, I understand the President is going to authorize the release of some of the detainees from Gitmo in the not too distant future,” Henrietta said.
“Where’d you hear that?” Geoff asked.
“Never mind that, Geoff,” Henrietta said, while sliding a folded sheet of paper across the desk.
Geoff picked up the sheet of paper, unfolded it, and glanced at what was written on it. There were two names of individuals on it, the name of a country in the Middle East, and a sizable dollar amount.
“A potential donor to the future Presidential library would very much appreciate it if those folks could be added to the list of detainees who’ll be released next,” Henrietta said. “The country listed there has agreed to receive them during their rehabilitation period.”
Geoff carefully folded the paper, before putting it in his shirt pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll see to it personally, Henrietta.”
CHAPTER 10
Seaside Tower Condos
Seaside Beach, Alabama
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
10:15 p.m. CDT
As planned, Reb and Billy left the Tuesday night poker game at Rusty’s condo earlier than usual. After stopping by Reb’s condo to pick up the weapons and ammunition they’d brought back from The Farm, they went down to the garage and loaded everything into the back of Reb’s SUV. They then drove across the four lanes of Perdido Beach Boulevard and into Rusty’s Marina, which was conveniently located right across the street from their condominium building. They parked in the parking lot closest to slip D-7, where Reb’s boat was berthed, and proceeded to load all of their gear aboard.
It was 11:05 p.m. when the Revenge exited Perdido Pass and headed out into the Gulf of Mexico. Reb had the radar system up and running and started performing a long-range search to locate the cargo vessel Billy was certain would be meeting the drug convoy. Coming through the pass, the Revenge’s radar system had been set to a 5-mile range. As soon as they were outside the pass, with Billy watching, Reb started tapping the zoom button on the radar display screen and after a couple of taps had expanded the radar’s range to 20 miles. After one sweep of the radar’s return, it was obvious there wasn’t a vessel large enough to be their target within that 20-mile range. Reb tapped the zoom button again to expand the range out to 30 miles. This time, as he watched the radar sweep make its way around the screen, he got a hit on a vessel that was large enough to be a cargo ship right at the edge of the 30-mile range.