The Gamma Option

by Jon Land

  Though the gas stoves were safe, open flames could mean extreme danger if the proper conditions were created. Evira eased herself a little forward. On a shelf just before her rested two glass jugs full of cooking oil and a box of wooden matches.

  She emerged from her hiding place for the brief moment it took to jump up and grab one of the jugs of cooking oil and the matches from the shelf, all in the same motion. The jug was heavier than expected, and nearly toppled from her grasp as she brought it down with her next to the nearest stove, all its burners busy with pots.

  She twisted the top of the jug off and eased it over until the thick oil began to ooze out. She poured it under and around the hot stove and then slid back away from the stove with a trail of the oil left before her. Watching its thick shine begin to widen, she struck a single match and tossed it slightly ahead.

  The flames caught instantly and spread in a fast, straight line toward the pool of oil collected under the stove. There was a poof! followed by an expulsion of black smoke as the burners caught fire and flames reached out from the stove. Pots spewed their boiling contents about in all directions and the flames engulfed the white frame of the stove, spreading in bursts to the ones on either side of it.

  One of the kitchen workers pulled the fire alarm and old-fashioned bells chimed through the palace. A pair of chefs came forward with fire extinguishers in hand but were blown back when flames spurted outward. The sprinkler system was activated by then, but another explosion rocketed more flames into another section of the kitchen and quickly the fire spread beyond the ability of the sprinklers to contain it. The bells continued to sound and Evira saw the kitchen workers rushing toward the nearest emergency exit. But the Revolutionary Guard had closed them off with the killer still at large, which forced the throng to head for the ballroom instead.

  In the darkness and smoke Evira stalked toward a servant whose coughs had slowed her down. Evira grabbed her from behind, and before she could scream for help Evira had knocked her out and dragged her unconscious form into the shadows.

  Evira struggled to remove the uniform from the woman, then removed her own gown. She donned the uniform in its place and moved into the vestibule that led into the ballroom.

  She entered it among a host of coughing kitchen personnel who were collectively struggling for breath or wiping grime from their faces. Around her all was bedlam. The Revolutionary Guards had closed off all exits in a concerted attempt to keep those present inside until order was restored. No one was allowed to leave. But in the next moment there was a huge gas explosion in the kitchen that shook the palace walls. A secondary explosion immediately afterward was punctuated by thick black smoke filling the first floor.

  Pandemonium ensued. Instantly all the main doors were jammed with desperate shapes fleeing into the night, guests mixing with servants as they passed out of the palace onto the sprawling grounds. To the commoners gathered in the streets beyond the royal palace, it made for entertaining viewing indeed, the sight of all those in charred formal dress reduced to a desperate mass. A few of the commoners cheered. Others jeered. There were few guardsmen about to silence them.

  The main gates had to be opened to allow the fire apparatus to pass into the complex, and it was through these in the confusion that Evira managed to slide off unseen into the night.

  A pair of men dressed as commoners viewed the fire raging from within the palace with as much confusion as delight.

  “What do you think?” the bearded one asked of the other, who was clean shaven. In times like this they always resorted to Hebrew, keeping their voices soft.

  “It’s not us,” the clean shaven one replied. “It couldn’t be.”

  “Unless there’s something the old men didn’t tell us. Unless this was a part of the operation we were not made privy to.”

  “Relax. It’s just coincidence. Nothing more.”

  But the bearded one continued to watch as the black smoke billowed from the windows ruptured by the blasts or by firemen.

  “I’m just worried Firestorm may have started without us.”

  “How could it, my friend? After all, we and the others are Firestorm.”

  “Three days?” the bearded one asked.

  “Three days,” the other acknowledged.

  Kourosh was waiting for Evira in the small room that had become her home and refuge. He grabbed her arms when she entered, bouncing buoyantly about.

  “I saw the flames from around the corner. I ran when I heard the sirens coming. I knew it was you! I knew it!”

  “I got lucky,” Evira said, tussling his hair.

  “Did you do it? Did you kill him?”

  The hate in his voice disturbed her, but she nodded.

  “How? Gun? Knife? The fire?”

  His morbid curiosity should have revolted her but didn’t. She had come to understand that he had grown up knowing no different. Besides, he had a right to know.

  “Gun,” was all she said.

  “Are they chasing you? Might they come here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He gripped her arms tighter, the perpetual grime on his cheeks seeming darker than ever. “I know other places we can hide. They’ll never find us. You’ll see!”

  Evira shook her head. “Don’t worry. There’s an escape route. You need only get me to the airport tomorrow.”

  “Escape route?”

  “Yes.”

  “For … you?”

  She nodded. “And you, my young friend. You saved my life. I could never leave this country without you.”

  The boy threw himself into her arms and Evira hugged him tight, never remembering a time when an embrace felt more special.

  Evira approached the Iran Air ticket counter at six o’clock the next morning. Since many of the international flights originating in Tehran departed even before this, she would have preferred to have come earlier. But the contact who would get her on her way with tickets on the first available flight out of the country didn’t come on duty until six. Evira got in line at her station and resigned herself to waiting. Strangely, none of the newspapers or the state television station had said anything about Hassani’s assassination. There was mention of the fire and a statement supposedly from the general was read. She wondered how and when the news of his death would be announced and why it was being concealed.

  Evira never considered for a second leaving Kourosh in Tehran. She realized there would be a problem since the original escape plan was for one, not two, and Kourosh had no passport in any event. Still she remained adamant. He would come with her or she would stay until she could come up with a way to get him out as well. She clung to the hope her contact would be able to resolve the problem in a matter of minutes.

  At last her turn came and she stepped up to the counter. The woman smiled at her perfunctorily and Evira handed her over a passport. The clerk reached under the counter and came up with an envelope.

  “Cairo,” she said simply. “Gate fifteen.”

  “Complications,” Evira returned. “I’ll need two.”

  The clerk’s expression changed a bit. “It will take time.”

  “I have it.”

  “A passport?”

  “My problem. Just get me another ticket.”

  The woman disappeared through a door behind the long service counter and Evira had settled herself to waiting patiently when she heard a commotion behind her. Turning, she saw a half-dozen Revolutionary Guardsmen making their way through the terminal in her general direction. Evira turned back, heart leaping in her chest. But such appearances were not uncommon. She needed only to remain calm. The clerk would take care of her.

  “Cairo is much too hot this time of year, I’m afraid,” came a voice from almost directly behind her, a voice she recognized but realized couldn’t be. “Yes, Evira, I’m talking to you.”

  She turned at that and froze. There, standing slightly ahead of six Revolutionary Guardsmen, with bystanders clustering about, was General Amir Hassani
, alive and in the flesh. Another pair of soldiers closed in on her from either side, rifles at the ready.

  You’re dead! Evira wanted to scream at Hassani but her eyes locked on the boy who stood transfixed in rage behind the soldiers.

  “Run!” she screamed at him. “Run!”

  And to distract the soldiers she made a feeble lunge toward Hassani, Evira feeling the rifle blow to the back of her head only briefly before oblivion welcomed her.

  Chapter 22

  “WELL, INDIAN, FOR BETTER or for worse, here we are,” McCracken said, easing their car off to the shoulder.

  Wareagle nodded in the direction of a sign ahead which stated its message with crystal clarity.

  WARNING!

  AIR FORCE GUNNERY

  RANGE AREA

  ROAD ENDS 1 MILE AHEAD

  Hank Belgrade had explained it all to Blaine on the phone the previous evening, how the gunnery range which ran between Arizona’s Sierra Estrella and Maricopa Mountains was an elaborate hoax meant to disguise the existence of the O.K. Corral. Belgrade couldn’t be much more specific in his directions than to say the retirement community for aging government personnel was situated between Phoenix and Casa Grande, before Route 85 reached the southern part of the state.

  After obtaining that information, Blaine and Johnny had driven to Boston’s Logan Airport and taken the next flight out bound for Phoenix. There were two stopovers and a long delay en route. The Thursday morning dawn was breaking by the time they finally landed.

  “What now, Blainey?” Wareagle wondered, with the letters of the warning sign before them seeming to slide in the sun.

  “We drive on like we’re not supposed to and see what we find. It’s tough country. Can’t be the first time somebody strayed off the road and got themselves stuck.”

  “You plan to drive straight up to their front door?”

  “That’s the idea for now, Indian. Just make sure those spirits of yours fasten their seatbelts.”

  “They’ve been quiet today, Blainey.”

  “Too busy watching us maybe.”

  “Too busy laughing more likely.”

  The area they were crossing was basically desert, and Blaine was forced to turn the rental car’s air conditioning off when the temperature needle flirted dangerously with the high zone. They opened all four windows in the sedan, which proved a blessing when they were perhaps five miles in.

  “I hear something, Blainey,” Wareagle said suddenly.

  “Not me.”

  “Coming from the west, a little more than a mile off.”

  “What is it, a chopper?”

  Wareagle tilted his head from the window as if the air might tell him. “Hughes Thunderhawk, overhauled from its time in the hellfire.”

  “Kind of like us, eh, Indian?”

  “It’s closing, Blainey.”

  “I figured they’d spot us before long. Must have sensors laid through the ground. Or maybe it’s just a routine patrol.”

  “Too fast for routine.”

  “Then what do you say we meet them on our own terms?”

  McCracken had the sedan pulled over, the hood popped and his head beneath it, when his ears finally picked up what Johnny Wareagle’s had well ahead of him. The steady wop-wop-wop sifted through the wind at an ever-increasing volume until the dust started to kick up around him announcing the chopper’s arrival. Blaine gazed upward and feigned absolute shock over the black chopper’s appearance. He began to wave his arms frantically to signal it, as a motorist in grave trouble would have.

  In his mind he could hear the pilot issuing a report back to the command center of the O.K. Corral, perhaps speaking to base leader Doc Holliday himself. A car had wandered into their territory and overheated. No sense making a big fuss. Just send some help fast or call the nearest Triple A. Wareagle had stayed hunched in the backseat the whole time the chopper was overhead. That way the report would mention only one man present, which was what they had to think if Blaine’s plan was going to work.

  “You have entered an air force gunnery range area and are in extreme danger,” came the obligatory call over the chopper’s PA system. “Please leave with your vehicle immediately. Repeat, please leave with your vehicle immediately.”

  McCracken threw up his arms helplessly once more and then pointed in frustration at the engine. He made sure they could see him shrug. He saw the pilot’s hand signal before the chopper swung round and headed back to the west and the O.K. Corral.

  “How long you figure it’ll be before they can get help to us, Indian?” he asked when Wareagle had emerged from the backseat.

  “My guess would be ten minutes, maybe fifteen. We’re close, Blainey.”

  “Spirits tell you anything specific about the Corral we’ll soon be heading for?”

  “A prison, Blainey, where the souls of the past loiter in the present without regard for the future.”

  “So what else is new?”

  As Wareagle had predicted, the jeep came kicking dust down the single unpaved road inside of fifteen minutes later. Blaine made a show of stepping away from his still-open hood and waving his arms again as is if to attract the driver. The jeep was marked in the colors and symbols of the air force, but the two men inside were dressed in civilian clothes.

  “Am I glad to see you!” he shouted out when they pulled their jeep up not far from him.

  They stepped down wordlessly, facial features obscured by the dark-tinted goggles each wore to keep the desert dust from their eyes while riding in the open jeep.

  “What’s the problem?” one of them asked.

  “Bastard overheated. Should’ve known not to trust a rental in these parts.”

  One of the men pulled off his goggles to reveal a pair of expressionless eyes. He nodded to the other who headed back to the jeep.

  “I really appreciate your help,” Blaine said. “Hey, you boys air force, or what?”

  The man said nothing, just stood there.

  “Well, thank the boys in the chopper for me, too.”

  At the jeep, the second man had just reached into the back for a water jug when Johnny Wareagle rose from behind it and latched a hand over his wrist so he wouldn’t foolishly try for a weapon. Meanwhile, McCracken more crudely rammed a fist into the stomach of the man nearest him. The man doubled over and Blaine followed the blow up by slamming him hard under the chin. His head snapped back in whiplash and he passed out instantly. Blaine turned to see Wareagle approaching with a slight grin etched over his leathery face and the man he’d downed hoisted effortlessly over his shoulder.

  “You must learn to be subtle, Blainey.”

  “You know what they say about an old dog, Indian.”

  “Perhaps. But the teeth remain sharp and dangerous still.”

  “So long as he doesn’t try and change his bite.”

  They drove the rental car a short way off the single dirt road and camouflaged it as best they could with brush. By the time they climbed into the purloined jeep, its previous two occupants had been bound, gagged, and stored in the sedan’s back and front seats. Blaine had left the windows partway down to make sure they’d have air. He drove the jeep with Johnny Wareagle in the seat next to him. They had donned the large tinted goggles worn by the other men both to shut out the spray of desert dust and to mask their features. Since the men from the O.K. Corral were dressed in civilian clothes, they didn’t feel their own garb would be a problem.

  “Rover One, this is Holliday,” a voice squawked over a mobile radio beneath the dash when they were six minutes into their drive west. “You boys plan on making a report anytime soon?”

  Blaine made sure to hold the mike well away from his lips when he responded. “Assistance rendered. On our way in.”

  “No reason to be so formal about it. See ya for lunch, boys,” Holliday said, and signed off.

  The tall steel fence came into view a bit under ten minutes later, just before they swung up the last of a rise that descended quickly into a val
ley at the foot of Arizona’s Maricopa Mountains.

  “I don’t see a checkpoint,” Blaine noted. “No guards to concern ourselves with.”

  “Electronic surveillance,” Wareagle put forth. “Cameras mounted on or near the fence. The gate will be opened from a monitoring station if we’re permitted to pass through.”

  As they drew closer to the fence, more signs alerting them to the presence of an air force gunnery range were visible, plastered all over the steel link.

  “Wish I could,” Blaine said out loud in response to the boldest sign of them all, one ordering all newcomers to TURN BACK NOW!

  They reached the gate and could do nothing but wait. When it did not slide open immediately, McCracken inspected it from the driver’s seat to see if he could ram the jeep right through and up the last of the rise. Probably could have, but it was a bad idea. If they couldn’t gain legitimate access to the O.K. Corral, the thing to do would be to circle round from the side on foot and make their entry at night. But the gate slid sideways at last and Blaine drove through it after a glance at Wareagle. He continued the uphill climb and saw in the rearview mirror that the gate had closed behind them.

  “Once we get there, we’ll still have to find Bechman,” he said.

  “The spirits would not have let us come this far if that was not their intention,” Johnny told him.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  The early afternoon sun beat down on them and Blaine felt his flesh seeming to wilt. The dry desert heat had his mouth tasting like dust, and he was about to reach back for one of the jeep’s water jugs when the rise suddenly leveled off to reveal the valley beneath them. Blaine’s eyes bulged behind his goggles.

  “Jesus Christ, is that a mirage, Indian, or am I crazy?”

  “It is indeed an illusion, Blainey, but not meant for us.”

  In the valley before them, a perfect town had been built with unpainted wood. The only tall structure was a church steeple on the outskirts, and Blaine distinguished freshly sodded parks and even a bubbling stream around which the entire secret retirement community had been constructed.