The Bid

by Adrian Magson

  The moment the door closed behind Paul, Tommy-Lee rounded on James, forcing out the words in a hiss against the jagged pain in his side and the muzziness in his head. “Are you stupid fucking crazy? Can you see now what I’ve been saying? You’ve got to do what he asks, can’t you see that?”

  “Really?” James looked calm, but his eyes were flicking between Tommy-Lee’s wound and the spray of blood on the wall. “He’s going to kill us whatever I do.”

  “So, you play for time, for Chrissake. Tell him you’ll do as he says, and maybe we can work on a way of getting out of here before anything takes off. The guy’s nuts, you can see that. Do you really want him to make any one of those phone calls?”

  “How can we get away? He’s got a gun. You think you can take him on with that knife you keep under the pillow? And you with a hole in you?”

  Tommy-Lee shook his head, which didn’t make him feel any less dizzy. He was desperate for an idea and knew that his options had suddenly grown a lot smaller. With Donny somehow out of the picture—probably run off and miles away by now if he had any sense after last night—Paul and the muscle man would now be even more careful around him. “I don’t know yet. I’ll think of something, don’t worry. Maybe I can take him as he comes back through the door. If not, all I need is for you to play cute and go along with what he says. It’s our only chance.”

  James didn’t say anything but stared at the wall and sighed.

  The ten minutes went by far too quickly. A click of the key turning in the door and Paul was standing there again, with Bill towering in the background. Only this time the big man was holding an assault rifle over his shoulder. In his hands it looked like a toy, but Tommy-Lee recognised it as anything but. It was a Bushmaster AR-15 fitted with a long magazine, with a rate of fire that could turn the two of them into pulp and the room into matchwood.

  He became aware that James was staring at him, eyes flicking pointedly at the pillow covering his knife. It was obvious what he was thinking.

  Tommy-Lee stayed where he was. His guts had turned to water and he felt a sense of deep shame wash over him as he realised that, even without the appearance of the assault rifle, he couldn’t do it. And it wasn’t just the pain from his side that was holding him back.

  He was plain scared.

  “Well?” Paul’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell—or maybe it was at the realisation that fear had rendered Tommy-Lee incapable of moving.

  “Yes.” James’s voice was low but carried clearly across the room. “I’ll do it. But you must promise me that your men won’t harm my family … or Miss DiPalma.”

  “You have my word.” Paul smiled, then gestured at Bill to hand him the assault rifle and unlock the cuffs. “You have made a wise decision.”

  Moments later they were walking across the airfield towards the hangar. Tommy-Lee stumbled, as much from the brightness of the sun as the shock of his wound and the lowering of his defences, and he wondered how he was going to talk his way out of this. Maybe the guy would see sense and let him go. Tough luck on James, though; he’d committed himself to helping them go through with whatever the crazy plan had to be.

  “Aren’t you worried we might be seen?” James queried, looking back at the road.

  “Even if we are,” Paul replied, “I don’t intend to be here very long. A further incentive for you not to make any mistakes.”

  With Paul still carrying the Bushmaster, Bill lumbered ahead and went into the room where Tommy-Lee had seen the boxes and crates. He emerged with one small and one larger crate, carrying them with ease, and they all walked out of the main door and across to the runway. The sun was bright and hot, bouncing off the concrete and sending up heat shimmers in the distance, and a bird sang high above them.

  It should have been a fine day to be alive, but Tommy-Lee simply wanted to be sick.

  Two hundred yards down the runway, Paul motioned them to stop and Bilal opened the two crates and lifted out the contents, setting them down with great care.

  “You know these machines?” Paul said to James.

  James looked down at them then shrugged. “I’ve heard of them but I’ve never seen one before. How did you get hold of them?”

  “That does not concern you. Can you fly them?”

  “I’m not sure I can. This is new technology … I’m not sure I could handle it.”

  Paul’s face went cold. “Well, I’m sure you haven’t handled a haulage truck before. But I imagine you could if you had to … unless you want me to put another hole in Mr. Roddick, here?”

  James shook his head. “There’s no need for that. I’ll try.”

  “Good. Then do so. But whatever you do, do not break it. Any silly accidents, and I will simply shoot Mr. Roddick. Then I will get my colleague to bring another machine. Break that one and you will die. But only after I make those phone calls to my men in England and New York.”

  James looked stricken by defeat. He knelt down alongside the drone and began to check it over. It was soon evident by his manner that he knew what he was dealing with and being extremely careful to check every aspect of the machine, from the small propellers and video screen read-out to the buttons and toggles on the control unit. Eventually he stood up and nodded. “It’s fine as far as I can see. But I don’t understand something.”

  “What is that?”

  “This drone is fitted with a parachute ejector, but there’s no chute. It’s got a secondary canister inside instead. What’s that for?”

  “You ask too many questions.” Paul tilted the rifle towards Tommy-Lee. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I won’t use this out here, Mr. Chadwick. There’s nobody around to hear it save for a few birds and some rabbits. And I doubt they care one way or another what happens to you.”

  “You made that clear already. What manoeuvre do you want me to make with it?”

  Paul looked down the runway. “See that rock off to the left of the runway about three hundred yards away? Fly the drone down as far as that, turn around it, and hover overhead for a moment, then bring it back.” He added, “No tricks, Mr. Chadwick, and no crashes. Stick to about fifty feet going down and twenty feet coming back.”

  James picked up the handset and motioned them all to stand well back. His hands moved on the controls and the drone sprang into life, the rotors buzzing furiously. With barely a shimmer, the drone lifted off and went high in the air, settling at about fifty feet. Seconds later, it turned and flew away down the runway, keeping a steady course all the way. When it reached the rock Paul had indicated, it slowed and began to turn, then hovered, like a giant dragonfly, the sun shining off the white casing. All the time James was focussed on the control unit and screen, only glancing up at the drone to check its position and flight path relevant to the ground.

  Then Paul stepped forward. “Release the parachute.”

  James stared at him. “I can’t—it hasn’t got one.”

  “Do as I say. Press the release.” The tip of the rifle barrel lifted to emphasise the order.

  James pressed a button on the control set. As they watched, a spray of bright red blossomed out behind the drone and fell to the ground in slow motion, coating the rock and the area around it the colour of blood.

  When the drone returned at twenty feet and settled on the ground with the lightest of touches, Paul nodded with satisfaction. “See how simple that was? That is all I want you to do.” He turned to Bill, who was scanning the area around the airfield, and said, “Pack it up with the others and load the van. We move out in thirty minutes.”

  “Where are we going?” said James.

  “That is something you will find out in due course. Now move.” He looked at Tommy-Lee and said, “You help him carry the smaller case. And whatever you do, do not drop it.”

  Twenty minutes later, Bill had driven the van to just inside the hangar doors and loaded the remaining
crates into the back. He shut the doors and walked across to join Paul, who was standing by the inspection pit with James and Tommy-Lee.

  “It’s done.”

  Paul nodded. “Good. You know what to do now.” He watched as Bill hurried away and took two large plastic containers from the back of the van. He removed the caps and began sprinkling the contents all around the walls of the hanger. Within moments the heady smell of gasoline began to fill the air around them.

  “A final reminder for you, Mr. Chadwick,” said Paul. “In case you are thinking of doing anything stupid once the drones are in the air, forget it. If I get even a hint of that, you know what I will do.”

  “Drones?” James looked puzzled. “How can I fly more than one … unless—” He stopped. “They’re fitted with GPS, aren’t they?”

  “Correct. They are linked to a master control. Once airborne they will each fly on a preset course. All you have to do is get them up and make sure they stay there.”

  “A set course. To the same target?”

  Paul ignored the question save for a pinched smile. He turned to Tommy-Lee. “Now, what was I saying about a reminder? Ah, yes. You were not entirely honest with me about your background, Mr. Roddick. I am not entirely happy with that deception.”

  Tommy-Lee looked at him, eyes dulled with fear and pain. “I don’t know what you mean. I told you the truth.” He swallowed hard and added lamely, “I was in Indiana like I said.”

  “I don’t mean your prison record, which was also a deception. I’m talking about your two years of military service in Iraq starting in 2003. You were with the National Guard and assigned as a prison worker to Abu Ghraib and Camp Bucca. Correct?”

  “No! You’ve got that wrong.” Tommy-Lee looked around desperately, as if he might see a way out. “That’s bullshit … I was never at Abu Ghraib—you must have made a mistake.”

  “There is no mistake. You were jailer and quickly became a lead interrogator.” Paul’s voice was insistent. “I’ve seen the military records and the reports into the activities of you and some of your colleagues. You tortured prisoners and made them suffer unspeakable indignities such as water-boarding and sensory deprivation. As a result of those things and the laxity shown by your commanding officer, you were relieved of your post and shipped back to the US in disgrace.”

  “No, wait!” Tommy-Lee held up his good hand. “Okay, I admit I was out there, in Iraq. But I didn’t do the kind of stuff you’re thinking about; that was down to a few CIA spooks and some low-life detention center guards. Man, they weren’t even properly trained, not like me. They were brought in by the CIA cuz they knew what to do and didn’t give a shit about procedure or human rights or none of that stuff, as long as they got results. They were animals. You gotta believe me.”

  “I don’t gotta do anything,” Paul said tauntingly. “Except this.” He handed the assault rifle to Bill, then reached round behind his back and brought out a semi-automatic pistol. He flicked the barrel sideways for Tommy-Lee to move to the edge of the pit, and said, “Kick the boards away.”

  “What? No, wait! I—”

  “Do it!”

  Tommy-Lee shuffled over to do as he was told. Tears were now running down his face and his chest and stomach were jumping with fear and frustration. “Man, this ain’t right. I did what you wanted … I looked after this guy like you asked and I persuaded him to help you, even though he didn’t want to. I did exactly what you said—I even refused to take the knife to you when he asked me earlier, so we could escape. That’s gotta count for something, right?” He scrubbed at his face with his good hand and gave a shivering sigh.

  “Really?” Paul glanced at James Chadwick. “Is that correct? Well, I’m impressed. He, at least, has some courage. Now kick the damned boards away!”

  Tommy-Lee did as he was told. The boards were thin and dried out by time and the elements, and one of them shattered and split, revealing the hole beneath. A strong stench of decay rose up like a vapour, and with it thousands of flies, filling the air around his head. Tommy-Lee tried to fend off the insects crowding against his face, filling his mouth, nose, and eyes, He staggered away but was pushed back by Paul. He stopped on the lip of the pit, then looked down and screamed in horror.

  thirty-three

  “Welcome to Oklahoma City.” The man waiting to greet Ruth and Vaslik in the main terminal at the city’s Will Rogers World Airport was wiry and tanned and carried the healthy glow of an outdoor type. He wore jeans and a cotton shirt, with aviator glasses tucked into the top pocket, and seemed genuinely pleased to see them. “Dave Proust.”

  Ruth shook his hand. He had a crisp, dry grip and she guessed was in his mid-sixties, though he moved like a much younger man.

  “Please, call me Dave.” He shook hands with Vaslik and gestured over his shoulder. “You want to get coffee or something to eat before we set out? It ain’t bad here—I’ve tried pretty much everything and I’m still standing.”

  “Coffee would be good,” Ruth said. “And we can show you where we’d like to go, if that’s all right?”

  He grinned enthusiastically. “I can vouch for the coffee, and you show me a map and I’ll tell you what’s possible. Tom Brasher gave me a briefing on what you’re looking for, so I have a good idea already.”

  He set off at a brisk pace and led them to a small coffee bar, where they ordered drinks before finding a table out of earshot of other passengers. Ruth relaxed; for the first time she began to feel that they might be getting somewhere instead of treading water. The decision to fly out here and use Oklahoma as their first jumping-off point had come as a relief, especially with Tom Brasher’s suggestion to engage Dave Proust as their guide and pilot. But the journey here had not shaken off the suspicion that her movements were possibly being followed. She had studied the other passengers on the way here, but none had looked remotely suspicious or had seemed even slightly interested in her or Vaslik.

  Once coffee was served and stirred, Andy Vaslik laid out the map and gave Dave a summary of the situation.

  The former FBI man studied the map for a while, then said, “I know of only one Freedom; it’s up on the Cimarron River, and it does have an airfield. I’ve landed there a couple of times, but I can tell you now it’s nothing more than a runway just south of town. You think these guys have been flying drones there?”

  “It’s the only lead we have,” Ruth told him. “Chadwick wrote the name on the map and the circle he made is right on the spot where it should be. He doesn’t seem the kind of man to make a note like that unless it meant something.”

  “Well, he could be right, I guess. There are several airfields all over the state, many of them abandoned, some in the middle of nowhere and mostly to the south of here. They’re not all government built, but those that were, were products of a time when they figured it was worth having standby airfields in out-of-the-way places, some with runways long enough to take tactical aircraft. The one near Freedom, though, that’s pretty small and close to some homesteads. If these guys did their flying there, somebody would have seen or heard them.”

  Ruth nodded. “It’s a long shot, I know. But we have to start somewhere.”

  Dave folded the map and smiled. “That’s good enough for me, young lady. If I’d ignored every long shot during my time with the Bureau, I would have missed some golden opportunities. If this doesn’t pan out, I know of a couple of other fields not far away, although none of them has the name of Freedom. What say we get on board and start flying?”

  They finished their coffee and Dave led them out to a pickup parked near the front entrance. He drove them away from the main terminal to a line of hangars on the west side of the airport. He parked the pickup and led them through a security checkpoint and out to the apron, where they saw a number of aircraft dotted around, some fixed wing, some helicopters. Pointing at one helicopter in a white livery, he said, “That’s my baby.
In case you’re interested it’s an Enstrom Shark. She’s done some miles but she’s sweet as a bee and loves to fly, same as me.”

  They climbed aboard and stowed their bags while Dave went through the preflight procedure and spoke to the tower. Ten minutes later, headsets in place, they were airborne and heading in a northwesterly direction away from the airport.

  “It’ll take under an hour to get there,” Dave told them. “So sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Vaslik put his head back and dozed, while Ruth stared down at the ground and realised what they had taken on. The countryside below looked vast, much of it seemingly given over to grassland, although from up here it was hard to tell. But it was already an indication of the kind of search they were setting out on.

  She must have dozed off too because what seemed only minutes later she woke to a running commentary from Dave and felt the craft descending on a curving course towards a clutch of buildings far below.

  “This is Freedom,” Dave was saying. “As you can see, it’s pretty small and isolated, with the airfield over there to your left. I’ll take you around the outside of the town first so you can get a feeling for the layout.”

  He did so, giving them a view of single-storey houses in separate lots, a handful of warehouse buildings, and grain silos, mostly grouped around a single road. The airfield came into view as they reached the southeastern outskirts. As Dave had told them, there wasn’t much to it, just a single runway.

  He set the helicopter down, watched by a couple of kids throwing a baseball. Ruth and Vaslik jumped out and ducked away from the spinning blades while Dave cut the engine and went across to talk to the boys. He came back shortly after with a smile on his face.

  “We’re in luck, but this isn’t the place. The kids said there’s been nothing here, otherwise they’d have heard it and come looking. One of them lives real close. But they say there’s been talk of some UFOs about fifteen miles from here north of the US Six-Four.”