He sidled up to the advisor. “Hello, Gary. Good of you to come.” He turned to the other man. “Good to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you and want to thank you for your support.” He shook his hand too anxious to take the time to read the name tag. “I have a favor, though. Do you think I could have a private moment with Gary? I’d appreciate it.”
The man walked away.
“Got a minute, Gary? I need to pick your brain on something.”
“Sure, Mr. Vice President, what can I help you with?”
“Please, we’ve know each other long enough. Call me Joe.” Ward placed a hand on the man’s back and guided him out of hearing range of the adjacent guests.
“Tell me, what do you know about the old MK101 Lulu?”
“What’s brought that up? Those bombs have been extinct since the late 1960s.”
Ward had thought this through while he tossed and turned last night, and was ready with an answer. “I was stationed in Key West during the Cuban Missile Crisis and handled a lot of armament, including those. I’m heading to South Florida from here to try and wrap this thing up, and thought bringing up my old service and emphasizing the nuclear threat that Kennedy averted would help out. It’s the fiftieth anniversary. Maybe help with the Cuban vote, too.”
Hawkins didn’t take long to comb through his memory for the specs on the bomb. “The Lulu was a nuclear depth bomb. Made sense that you used them back then. They were mostly deployed against submarines from planes. It’s got a pretty big blast, with an eleven kiloton warhead. That’s just shy of the size of Little Boy, the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. A lot more efficient, though. The bombs were detonated with a barometric pressure trigger. You would set it to the depth you wanted and it would blow. The only thing is if one of these accidentally dropped from a ship, it would still go off. They fixed that after a while, having the pilot activate a second trigger from the cockpit after it was released.”
“Sounds like a good thing they’re obsolete.”
“Why the interest in the Lulu?”
“Oh, that.” Ward searched for an answer. “I’ve got a picture of me with one of those. They think I’m soft on the armed forces down there. Nothing like posing with a nuke to disarm that view.”
Hawkins laughed. “Well, good luck to you.”
“One more question, just curious, how would you disarm one of those suckers?”
“Aside from the barometric trigger, there’s a python primer. The primer is an explosive that is heat detonated when the depth is reached. This reaction triggers the fission in the bomb. Just remove the primer and the bomb is safe. Planning a demonstration?” Hawkins kidded.
Ward ignored the comment and shook hands. He continued pressing the flesh as he made his way back through the crowd, moving toward his travel secretary. He caught a glimpse of her and moved in that direction. About a hundred handshakes later, he was by her side. She saw the boss coming and quickly ended her conversation.
“What’s up, boss?”
“You still have the number for that guy I called last night? You know, the guy at the Naval station down in Key West?”
“Sure.” She glanced at her phone and scrolled through the call history. “Right here.”
“Can I use that and call him?”
***
Gillum answered on the second ring. The number showed as restricted on his cell phone. Ordinarily he wouldn’t answer, but things were far from the usual. “Gillum here.”
“Jim, it’s Joe Ward. Listen, I figured what to do with that thing. I need it. Locate it, secure it, and get it on a truck to Miami. Be safe, but don’t make a spectacle out of it. I’m doing a rally there this weekend and it would make a great backdrop. Hell, we’ll just call it a stage prop.
“That’s a live bomb, sir.”
“Here’s the thing, Jim. If it appears in public like this, then no one will think it was ever lost. No one will ask where it came from. They’ll assume it’s been in storage and came from somewhere safe, and that it’s going right back there. It’ll go back with you. No questions asked. And Jim, you know what this means to me.”
“Yes sir, we’ll be there. But you remember there’s another bomb.”
“Do what you can about that one. Just handle it. It’ll look even better with two.”
Chapter 31
It took Mac several minutes to orient himself. He woke in the conference room, his arms cramped from sleeping in handcuffs all night. He got up and started moving around the room. On the desk was a note: Dial extension 223 when you are ready to talk. He needed to clear his head and evaluate his options before calling.
He did a couple laps around the small room, doing the best he could to rotate his arms over his head, trying to loosen up the tightness. After a few minutes of this he was limber enough to get his feet through his hands, placing the cuffs in front. He got on the floor and popped out fifty pushups and held the plank position for two minutes. He got to his feet and did one hundred squats. With his blood flowing now, he thought about his situation.
Mel came first to his mind. She’d obviously had no luck or he would have been able to at least talk to her. It was Saturday morning and there wasn’t a courthouse she could get in to do her thing until Monday morning. With Wood and Trufante in the hospital, there was no one left but himself. It was clear that Gillum wasn’t going to let him walk out of here. If the Captain was willing to take the chance of detaining him overnight, he would no doubt follow through on his other threats. The only alternative remaining was to make a deal. He would just have to stay fluid as things progressed, waiting for an opening to take over the situation.
He dialed the number and waited while the phone rang. His annoyance increased with each ring, the feeling he was just stuck here gnawing at him. The phone his only lifeline.
The phone was still ringing when the door opened. He wondered if Gillum had intentionally ignored the call, hoping to gain even more of an advantage over his him.
“Ready to have a chat now?”
“Yeah, we can talk. What do you want from me?”
“Just a little guided trip. We go get your boat and pick up a couple of bombs. Deliver them to our truck, and we’re done.”
“Oh, that’s all?”
“Considering the situation you’re in, I think that’s a hell of a deal.”
“What happens when we’re done?”
“Everyone goes about there lives like nothing happened. I take the bombs and dispose of them properly, you walk away.”
“My other options aren’t looking so good. That’s what you want, and I walk away, no collateral damage to Wood or Mel, and you’ve got a deal.”
“I knew you’d come around.” Gillum walked around the desk and unlocked the handcuffs. “Just one thing, though. You pull any crap and there’s a ghost ship off Guantanamo you can spend a few years on. We understand each other?”
“Yes. We’re going to need some help.”
“I’m your help. Take it or leave it.”
Mac appraised the Captain, thinking he looked more like a CPA than a Captain. “I need a bathroom and some food. Then let’s do it.”
***
Jules had slept little. She had been up most of the night waiting for the Feds to call. What a crock, she thought. She had called Homeland Security and the FBI, following every protocol she knew. She hadn’t got much interest from the minions forced to answer late-night phone calls. Now she sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes, hoping the douche bag in custody had slept worse than she had. She’d left instructions for Doans’ overnight stay, saying he was to be given a private cell and bathroom. The prisoner was treated better than the sheriff would have liked, but if this was for real, and the Feds got involved, Doans was sure to let them know every detail of his incarceration. The last thing she needed in a laid back spot like this was the Feds looking over her shoulder.
Her eyes started to focus as she emerged from her office. After a quick trip to the restroom to wash her face, she start
ed to feel human again. In the lobby, the officer on phone duty indicated that no calls had come in. She had done her duty and reported the threat, but this was her town. Distressed, but not surprised by the inaction of the federal agencies, she would do what was necessary to mitigate the threat and take responsibility for what went on here. A terrorist plot was NOT going off in Monroe County on her watch. She called down to lockup and asked for the prisoner to be brought back up to the interrogation room.
***
“Here’s the deal.” Jules made sure the cup was close enough for Doans to smell the rich coffee, but not taste it. “The Feds don’t seem to care about you. No one has even called back. That’s what they think of your half-baked ploy to get out of jail.”
“I can see why they’re not reacting. A threat reported from a guy about to be locked up is surely suspect. But what I’m telling you is real. Go check it out yourself. The rag heads are staying at the Tropical Inn, down the street from that turtle hospital.”
“I have nothing to hold them on besides your word, and that, like you said, is suspect.”
“I’m just saying, a good investigator would check out the lead. Talk to the staff, they’ll tell you about those two dudes. At least you’ll know I’m not lying.”
“None of this is going to stop me from prosecuting you.”
“Maybe you ought to think about what I may or may not have done. I’m not admitting to anything here. Just saying, running a boat aground around here happens all the time. I’m sorry someone got hurt, but it was an accident. A little scuff up in a bar won’t even be worth a court date, and shooting that guy in the leg was purely self-defense. He was after me, I had no choice.”
She sat back and processed this line of thinking. She hated to admit it, but unless she could prove willful negligence, which was near impossible, the douche would probably walk. Probation, at the most. She grunted and accepted the will of the courts, be it right or not.
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. You’ll be arrested for disorderly conduct. I’ll leave the boat crash and the speargun incident out for now, but if this terrorist thing doesn’t pan out, I’ll go after you for that too. We’ll check out your claims and if you’re on the level, you can probably walk with probation. If this is a crock, just to get out of these charges, I’ll be handpicking your cellmate for the next few years.” She watched him, knowing the hook was set.
“Deal.”
***
The motel clerk had just started her shift when the sheriff walked into the lobby. Jules was not in the mood for small talk.
“I’m looking for a couple of middle eastern looking guys. May have checked in last night.
The clerk answered that she hadn’t seen anyone looking like terrorists, but had just come on duty. She checked the records from the night shift and noticed that two rooms were checked into overnight. One occupied by a couple from Ft Lauderdale, the other rented by a single male. The man had paid in cash and presented an ID with the name of James Wells. Didn’t sound like Osama Bin Ladin, but she was here anyway, Jules thought. May as well check around.
She got the room number from the clerk and walked around the corner, counting down the numbers as she went. The cleaning cart was parked right in front of unit 16. She knocked on the jamb of the open door and stepped into the room. The maid was in the bathroom, so she cleared her throat and called out a greeting. A head timidly peeked around the corner and nodded at the sheriff. She took this as an OK to look around. Careful not to disturb anything, she looked through the personal objects scattered around the room. It looked like one man, but the bed looked like it had been slept in by two. Both sides had been exited.
She looked in the bathroom and confirmed that there was only one toothbrush. Interesting. About to leave, she looked under the bed. A rolled-up prayer rug and a bag were set neatly next to each other. With no warrant, she couldn’t take or even use any evidence found in court, but it could help her confirm Doans story. She opened the bag and stared at the bundles of cash. Quickly she put both items back under the bed and left the room as she had found it.
Chapter 32
Mac’s place was quiet. Sue and Trufante were gone, apparently shacked up at his place. Wood was finally asleep. He’d had an uncomfortable night until she caved in and made him a cocktail of Scotch, pain killers, and some Advil pm, just for a kicker. She could hear him snoring through the open door of Mac’s office.
Not a word from Mac, and her efforts to contact him had failed. The operator at the Naval base had refused to connect her to anyone in charge. She doubted her messages were even being passed on. True to her nature, she was relentless until the Petty Officer on duty, his name written down and underlined a dozen times on the yellow pad in front of her, one for each call, had finally told her he would have the police after her for harassment. He was clear that there were no prisoners at the Naval base. The detention center there had been mothballed years ago.
She scanned her email. A couple of work-related notes, but nothing positive from her inquiries about Mac. She had received a note from an old colleague, saying that this sounded like a personal matter. He was clear that the ACLU would not get involved in personal issues. If there was a broach in civil liberties, she could file papers later and he would review it. She knew she was pretty much done there. Saturday morning was not a good time for lawyers. Nothing could be done without getting a judge off the golf course, or in the Keys, off his boat. Anything other than a child abduction was going to wait until Monday, and more than likely Monday afternoon.
Once in a while, her profession frustrated her, and this was one of those times. The law was the law for better or worse, kind of like a marriage. Her unshakable beliefs allowed her to apply it in black or white terms. She had no problems representing a Greenpeace activist, an illegal immigrant, or a housewife in Montana if the law had been violated. She knew most attorneys saw the law on a sliding grey scale applied to each case depending on its variables, and most often their fee. It was hard to make the kind of friends that could help her now with her background. Her affiliation to the ACLU and currently Davies and Associates often hurt her more than helped. Once more, she thought about her future. What these people never got was that no matter how sensational the case, it could happen to them. Maybe not tomorrow, but the ever-increasing reach of the government into private citizens’ lives was happening, one baby step at a time.
She went over to the kitchen and started some breakfast. Surprised by the selection in the pantry and refrigerator, she placed the ingredients for a frittata on the counter. Diced onions and garlic were tossed into a cast iron skillet, butter already melted on the bottom. While the onions became translucent, she chopped a sweet potato and a couple of zucchini. Next she diced some bacon and cooked it in the microwave. As the ingredients cooked, she reflected on Mac.
She’d known him since she was a kid. Eight years older than her, he had been working for her dad. He’d taken her fishing and crabbing. He’d taught her to drive when she became frustrated with her dad. Mac became a crush as she matured. She wouldn’t admit to herself that he was too old for anything to come of it. As she progressed through college and her political views changed, she started to resent her dad and anything attached to him. This meant Mac as well. Yes, her views in those years had been a little idealistic, or maybe a lot idealistic. She’d protested everything from Iraq to the rights of immigrants. But as the years went by, her views softened. She gained some perspective and started to understand, although she hadn’t yet acknowledged the merit of her fathers arguments. She’d come back several times more from guilt than want. She’d seen Mac again after his divorce, even felt some empathy, but couldn’t muster the courage to comfort him.
The years had paved bitterness between them that had never been reconciled. Communicating feelings, especially when it came to apologizing was not a Woodson trait. She felt badly about everything left unsaid. Although they both now shared a libertarian viewpoint, she came at it from
the left, and he from the right.
She took her frustration out on the eggs, beating them into submission, then adding them to the mix with the cooked bacon. Mac again occupied her thoughts as the dish cooked. She wanted to deny the attraction, but couldn’t. She had noticed the look on his face when the doctor had asked her out, and had to admit it made her feel good. And again how alone she felt when the Navy men had taken him into custody.
The eggs were firm on the bottom and crusting on the side when she placed the pan under the broiler to finish it off.
***
She was deep in thought and didn’t hear the doorbell, if they even rang it. Trufante and Sue were heading up the stairs one step at a time as Mel took her pan out of the oven.
“Still got my timing,” Trufante said as he limped into the room, his grin large. Sue trailing close behind, smiling as well, both of them fresh from the shower. “Smells good. Old man never said you could cook.”
“That’s cold. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
Wood stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled up. “Take it to go. We gotta get a move on. Y’all are having a party up there while Mac’s missing and no one’s watching my place.”
Trufante opened the door. “Wood, you old bastard. I knew they couldn’t keep you down.”
Wood grimaced in pain as he started to head up the stairs. He only got a few steps up when Sue intercepted him and walked him back down. She sat him in the office chair and started checking him out.
“You look pretty good,” she said. “Let me check the wound.”
He got up and lifted the bottom of his t-shirt, revealing the criss-cross of staples.
“Where’s the dressing? You have any idea how susceptible to infection that is right now?”
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