The Kill Box

by H. Ripley Rawlings

  She liked seeing him happy. Or maybe it was the exquisite feeling of stealing another woman’s boyfriend? Whatever, it didn’t matter. She had carefully planned everything, and he’d already fallen for the first few opening moves. Now it was time for her to turn up the heat. He would ask her some more questions and she would answer, but he would be so happy that he wouldn’t even really register the gentle neck rubs she was about to give him. He would enjoy it, of course. He was stressed, and men secretly loved the gentle touch of a woman rubbing their necks and temples, and then more. She had even sprayed a very special perfume on the comforter. Just a touch, which he would already have caught a whiff of when he knelt beside her. She had composed a meticulously crafted albeit subliminal battlefield. One he didn’t even know he’d wandered into.

  The scent of a real woman, she thought. Men couldn’t resist it at all. He would fall uncontrollably for her devices.

  “I estimated a ninety-percent certainty of this routing.” she said, slowly dragging her finger along the map. She squished herself even harder up against him. As she spoke, she blew gently on his ear again, once more delighting as the little ear hairs twitched. Her mind dallied through what was going to happen next, savoring every notion.

  “Just one problem,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. He abruptly folded her map and stood up.

  “What?” she said, completely taken aback.

  “We’re not going to launch an attack in Winchester,” he said.

  “What?” She was practically shouting.

  Startled, he said, “Hey, tone it down,” His brow furrowed in genuine concern over her suddenly odd behavior.

  Stacey’s whole face had changed. Her sweet expression vanished and she turned practically demonic.

  “Look, it was a good suggestion, but it makes no tactical sense.”

  “How do you figure?” she forced through clenched teeth.

  “Well,” he said, unrolling the map on the bed, bending and pointing to Winchester, “that’s not a bad spot. I mean, for someone who dwells in the intel world and not the tactical world.”

  It wasn’t intended as an insult, just an observation, but Stacey tightened her jaw and glowered at him. He didn’t notice. He seemed too eager to explain the tactical play of the problem as he saw it. “You see, there’s several gas stations, and two large subdivisions of houses right here and here. Civilians, all across near where the train will travel. The 25mm cannon on Bryce’s LAV can go over two thousand meters, even on a flat trajectory. If we start firing there, any overshoots and we’ll be inadvertently killing noncombatants left and right.”

  “So?” she said.

  “So, I don’t aim to kill civilians. Also, there’s a bigger problem. What if those chemicals get broken open, the entire town is going to look like the Bhopal disaster.”

  “The what?”

  “Um, never mind. A big chemical disaster over in India.”

  “Who gives a shit,” she said, realizing a little too late that her emotions at being blown off were almost as strong as her anger at his blowing apart her scheme.

  “Well, me, for one.” He stood straight up again. “Hey, that was some truly amazing intel. Really saved the day. Possibly changed the whole outcome.” He looked her up and down once, as if just now remembering she was in skimpy exercise gear. “Ah, go ahead and get changed, then come on up to the CP, ASAP. I want to brief everyone on the news, then get to work on a new plan.”

  She glared at him but nodded.

  “Way to go, champ!” he said, chucking her on the shoulder like an old pal. He spun about, pulled back the poncho and jogged out quickly.

  “Motherfucker,” she said quietly, scowling at his wake.

  Five minutes later, Stacey entered the command post in uniform. First Sergeant Hull, Gunnery Sergeant Dixon, and a smattering of NCOs from across the unit were looking over maps and talking in animated tones. She walked over to Gunny and jabbed him in the ribs.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The boss just finished briefing them on your intel about the train. Good stuff.”

  “Uh huh. Well, where are we goin’?”

  “Not sure yet. Big decision brief. We reconvene in ten minutes. Colonel Asher said for me to tell you to grab your maps and timetables and come right back.”

  Stacey was walking out of the room when one of the Navy Petty Officer nurses named Bartlett walked up to Stacey and held onto her arm as she tried to exit. The room was still a loud rumble of troops talking over their parts in the upcoming action. Even so, the girl leaned in close so she wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Heard you in the women’s quarters. Sounds like you’re trying to get the colonel in the sack.” She shook her head at Stacey and clenched her grip. “We respect the colonel around here too much for that shit.” Bartlett glared at her, then added, “Whore.”

  Stacey’s mouth fell open.

  “Better set your sights a little lower, girly,” the woman said. “He’s got eyes for the top shelf anyhow, and I am talking about my boss, Commander Remington. Besides, I’m sure you don’t even have what he wants.” Bartlett looked at Stacey’s chest, smirked, and quickly walked out.

  If she had stuck around even one second more, she would have heard Stacey hiss, “I’ll kill you, you fat fucking bitch.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Morgantown, West Virginia

  Victoria stopped at the hospital admissions table. She went into doctor mode and apparently talked the talk so well, or Wynand’s schtick was so believable, that in moments the night nurse had a crash cart brought over and even had someone bring a spare doctor’s white coat for Victoria.

  Wearing the lab coat and wheeling a still flopping and foaming Wynand through the corridors seemed to forestall any questions or interference from the night staff around the hospital. The sight of someone running and pushing a gurney was not new, especially these days. In less than five minutes, Victoria had navigated them over to the office of medical affairs. It was closed.

  “What are we doing here?” Wynand stopped flopping long enough to stare up at her.

  “Getting us an all-access badge. These guys always leave their badges on their desks. I’m assuming you still know how to pick a lock.” She pointed to the door of a closed and darkened office. Wynand pulled the sheet off and leapt up. He examined the door for a second, then went to where Victoria had stuffed the packs under the cart. He rifled there a second or two, then came up with a set of devices that looked like lockpicks.

  “How messy can we be?”

  “Here?” She looked around; no one was about. “Messy.”

  Wynand looked at the picks, shook his head, and grabbed the sheet from the gurney. He wrapped it around his fist and punched the small glass windowpane. Reaching in, he undid the latch from the inside.

  “Boom,” he said, opening the door wide for Victoria. She went in and was back in several seconds holding up a shiny, stolen, red-striped all-access badge. She pinned the zip cable on to the stolen white coat.

  “There, now we’re official.” She patted the badge.

  “Official thieves,” he said. “We really need that?”

  “Where we’re going, yes. Now get your butt back on the cart.”

  Once Wynand climbed back on, she raced off down another corridor and took them up a long ramp to the second floor. As she ran, Wynand had stopped his flopping and saw the pharmacy go by. He whispered to Victoria, “Hey, we’re passing by it.” He pointed though the sheet and up to the sign.

  “Do I need to strap your ass down? Shut up!” Victoria said.

  Two men in hospital scrubs stood to the side of them, both frowning at Victoria’s harsh tone toward her patient.

  Finally, a few corridors and badge swipes later, they stopped outside a large steel door. Hazardous-material placards adorned the door, and a sign bordered in red and yellow read:

  EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS MATERIALS FEDERAL EMERGENCY STOCKPILE CONTACT ANESTHESIA OR LEVEL-SIX PERSONNEL FOR ACCESS


  Victoria stopped. “Okay. We’re here.”

  “Where’s here?” Wynand asked, trying to make sense of the sign.

  “Let’s just say, this is where they keep the good stuff.”

  Wynand jumped off the gurney and looked around.

  “So what’s next?”

  “Next is you pick that lock, and we have about a minute to grab what we need.”

  “Seriously?” Wynand looked at Victoria incredulously. “Can’t you just swipe that badge.”

  “No. That’s what got us this far. It won’t work anymore. This section is coded for only a select few, and we don’t have the time to go searching for the badge that opens this door. How long until you can get it open?”

  “About ten seconds, why?”

  “Because as soon as you pick the lock, the keypad will trigger, and a few seconds later an alarm will go off, and the magnetic pads will lock down the door.”

  “Shit.”

  “Not done,” she continued. “Then the central alarm will sound all over the hospital. I estimate the hospital security guys will arrive about a minute later. That is, if the Russian guards don’t beat them here.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Because I’m the one who runs that drill for our hospital. Sans Russians, of course. It’s a pretty big breach for the hospital.”

  “Pretty big?”

  “I lied—the biggest. Only stealing a baby from the maternity ward compares.”

  “So what the fuck is in there? Babies?”

  “You know what remifentanil is?”

  Wynand shook his head.

  “Ten thousand times stronger than morphine and a hundred times more potent than fentanyl?”

  Wynand’s eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah. Catch your breath, you crook, then get your ass to work. You’ll only have a few seconds to open the door before the magnetic lock goes, so . . . no pressure.”

  Wynand wasted no more time. He grabbed his lock-picking tools, sorted through them, and jammed the electronic device against the lock. As soon as his electronic mechanism entered the lock, the keypad next to the door started beeping. Wynand’s tool whined briefly, then stopped. He pulled it out, shook it, stared at it, then pushed it back in. It still did nothing, but the electronic beeping from the PIN pad now started picking up the pace.

  “Problems?” Victoria glared at him, wide eyed. “’ Cause this is a pretty crappy time to have performance anxiety, buster.”

  “Working on it.” He tossed the electronic picks back to Victoria and pulled out a set of steel lock picks. “Just have to go analog.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Victoria was looking around nervously. As yet, and probably because of the early hour, no one was in their hallway.

  “A few seconds longer than planned.” Wynand worked furiously on the lock. The keypad went from beeping to a continuous whine.

  “The alarm is going to go off.” Victoria squinted and started to think about the quickest route to get out of this corridor.

  “I know,” Wynand snapped back. Then he stepped away from the door.

  “Shit. Can’t get it?” Victoria asked.

  He shook his head and pulled the door handle. A screeching alarm went off, and red lights flashed above the door, but it opened. Right at the same time, they both heard a loud thud from around the door frame. The magnetic lock had just engaged, but the door was already open.

  “I did it.” Wynand stared at the door incredulously.

  “Congratulations, con man. You just graduated from common thief to full-blown bandit.” She pushed him aside and ran in. “Hustle up!” Wynand started following her, and she yelled, “Don’t forget to leave it open, or we’ll be locked in.”

  Wynand caught the door with his foot just before it closed, then wedged the crash cart in the entryway. He turned and stared around at the all the shelves, cabinets, steel doors, and glass cases like a kid in a candy store, then stopped in his tracks. “What do I grab?”

  Victoria was frantically racing around the room searching for something. She stopped briefly and pulled open a cabinet labeled “Surgical Narcotics.” “Grab anything with a red label in here.” Then she continued flinging doors open, quickly searching inside and moving on.

  Wynand stuffed everything with a red label into the backpacks on the crash cart in the doorway, then grabbed some bottles and vials with blue and green labels for good measure.

  “Thirty seconds,” Wynand yelled back to Victoria.

  “I know,” came Victoria’s voice from a behind a shelf.

  Wynand looked inside a few other cabinets and contemplated taking what was inside. The trouble was everything had a medical name on the outside, none of which he understood. Victoria ran up and dumped a load of medicines on the cart, then glanced at what Wynand was holding up. “Those are industrial-grade laxatives. Leave them alone unless you want explosive poo. Won’t sell well on the black market, anyhow.” She raced back between the shelves.

  “Ten seconds. What else do you need?” he said, loading the medicine up into the packs and shoving one bag under the cart. Four or five bottles dropped out and rolled under the cart. He lay down to fetch them.

  Victoria came back with several small vials, breathing heavily. “Got it,” she said, her eyes lit up.

  Wynand was still stretching to get the lost vials. From his position on the floor, halfway under the crash cart, he looked up and watched as Victoria’s face change from joy to dread. “What now?” he asked, half out of his wits.

  Victoria just shook her head. She was looking out the doorway. Wynand twisted around a bit farther, and through the legs of the cart, he saw two pairs of high-topped leather Russian boots and the tips of two AK rifle barrels.

  * * *

  First light was starting to show its face, and Blue watched as workers assembled a podium, speakers, and microphones. Others wheeled floral arrangements and large plants up and set them around the speaking venue.

  Blue looked up at the sheriff. He stood, dispassionate, looking out at the cool morning scene. He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and started talking.

  Blue’s heart sank to rock bottom. It was about to happen. He understood that he was about to assassinate an American, but it felt surreal now that he was here. It seemed as if he was in another man’s body, or like he was in a nightmare in which he knew he was about to commit a terrible crime but could not stop himself.

  All of a sudden, some words of one of his teachers, Mrs. Nevarez, started to come back to him. He churned them over in his mind trying to make sense of them. He could even see her there in her homely but authoritative plaid skirt and turtleneck. He had respected her. Like his mother, she spoke about things deep in the heart that his head couldn’t make sense of. Those women brought order to what Blue saw as an otherwise chaotic world.

  But so did the mayor, Blue thought. Didn’t she?

  “Yeah. We’re in position.” The sheriff looked down at Blue. “Okay, here he is.” He held the phone out to Blue. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Blue took the phone. “Hello. This is Blue.”

  The sweet Southern voice of the mayor came back. “Mr. Blue. I am forever grateful to you and your state, and nation will be, too. Right about now, you are wondering if what I told you is true. If it is righteous and correct. You may even be wondering if what I am asking from you is legal, or more importantly, if it is right. And I do mean that in a patriotic and a Biblical sense.”

  Blue nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Mr. Blue, when we spent time with each other last night, you looked deep into my eyes. And your eyes asked me to be truthful, and you hoped that I was trustworthy. Ignore your head for a minute, and tell me what your heart told you.”

  Blue was silent a moment more, then he answered, “That you were right.”

  “Good. Now, I want you to listen to something else. When the governor speaks this morning, I want you to listen carefully to his words. Your heart is conv
inced now to do this thing for me, but when he speaks, I need you to listen to what he says. Then your head will ultimately tell you what your heart already knows. Can you do that for me, Mr. Blue? Can you listen to the governor?”

  “Yes . . . yes, ma’am. I can do that.”

  “Good.” She hung up.

  The sheriff snickered and reached for the phone. He popped a stick of gum in his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. “All right, hotshot. Looks like we’re in business.” He looked out at the small crowd that had begun to arrive and now was milling around, getting snacks and hot drinks from a side table and chitchatting. Blue got back behind the rifle and watched the men and women gathering there. They all had little name tags and were arriving from the other buildings around the capitol. Blue could see they were other government employees. They laughed and joked freely, and for a moment, even with the Russian occupation, Blue could see they were in genuinely good spirits. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen civilians laughing and joking.

  Was it possible people could get back to normal under Russian rule? Blue’s head was starting to swim, just like it did back in Mrs. Hewitt’s algebra classes.

  CHAPTER 31

  Tucker County High School

  West Virginia

  Stacy went back to her quarters, grabbed her notes, and pulled the Pelican case out from under her bed, undoing the locks. She pulled out the encrypted comms device and hastily typed a new message:

  AMBUSH LOCATION CHANGED, NEW LOCATION: UNDETERMINED. UPDATE IN 30 MINS.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A message came back almost immediately.

  UNDERSTOOD. ASSAULT FORCE ALREADY EN ROUTE TO OLD LOCATION. UPDATE NEW AMERICAN AMBUSH SITE IMMEDIATELY. BOMBING RUN ON ENEMY CP COMMENCES IN 10 MINS.