Danger Point

by Douglas J Bourg

  Bobby,

  These pictures are of General Sandoval after his plastic surgery and of a guy that I only heard addressed as Aziz. Aziz is carrying a chemical bomb that he plans to set off in downtown LA during the President’s visit, at the end of July. The drugs and weapons are a smoke screen to get this guy into the United States. There is an agent named Bill Delaney. Get these pictures to him. He’ll know what to do with them. You can reach him at 202-555-1745.

  The submarine that‘s transporting the drugs, guns and this Aziz clown was built by the Russians and will be almost impossible to detect by any of our current technology. The sub will be arriving between July 25th and the 27th, around eleven p.m., off of Abalone Point. If Delany hasn’t found you yet, get this information to him.

  Bobby, I knew you’d figure out how to get the puzzle box open. I’m so sorry for any problems I may have caused you or DJ. You guys are the best. Paddle my ashes out at Pipeline.

  Stay low, go slow, be safe my Brother. - Micky

  I stand and hand the letter over. “Mr. Delany, here’s the information my friend died for. If I can be of any further assistance, you know how to find me.” I nod to Chako and turn to walk out of the restaurant. Alexis is right behind me.

  “Bobby! Wait!” says Murphy. “I need a ride back to my car.”

  Before Captain Sprague can say anything, Murphy runs to follow us out the door.

  Chapter 38

  DJ and I are paddling out on our boards at San Clemente State Park. It’s nuts; eight foot plus waves with top to bottom barrels. There are only three other guys out.

  “It all just keeps getting weirder and weirder, but it was cool that Chako opened up the puzzle box without wrecking anything.” DJ says.

  “It was something, watching her open it. It was full of the pictures and information that Micky had stolen from General Sandoval.”

  As I look at the horizon, I see a large set of waves building. We push harder to try to catch one. I start to paddle after a killer wave that’s just starting to hit the roof. I come into it just a second late, and as I stand up, I can really feel the bottom start to fall out from underneath me. I push my right foot back on the tail. I feel the board start to stabilize and lean into the bottom, carving a big bottom turn and pulling up into the pocket. The waves at State Park are crazy when it’s this big. This wave sets up and I feel it getting hollow. I keep getting further and further back in the tube. I come blowing out with a gush of air and spit following me. It takes my breath away.

  “Great wave, bro,” another surfer calls to me as he paddles by, his too-long, blonde hair matted from the water.

  I wave my acknowledgment, turn and watch DJ pull up into a monster barrel. He gets an incredible ride. I could never figure out why DJ didn’t make the tour. He was way better in contests than I ever was and won more than I did.

  We surf for a couple more hours, catching wave after wave, but it starts to get crowded, so we decide to pack it in and let the amateurs have a go at it. We grab our boards out of the water and walk up the beach toward my van. I unlock the back and notice my cell phone blinking on the floor where I had left it. Shit. What now? I hit the message button and listen as we towel off.

  “Bobby. This is Special Agent Delaney. It’s important I see you as soon as you get this message. I need help from both of you and your friend, DJ Frasier.” He left his phone number before he’d hung up.

  I look at DJ. “Shit. The Feds want to talk to us. I thought we were finished with all this. What do you think? Delaney said he needs both of us. Should I call him or blow him off?”

  “Good luck blowing off a Fed,” he says with a sigh as he peels his wetsuit to his waist. “If this lets me bring my family home then I’ll help. I’m so tired of my wife and kids being away, but I don’t feel like it’s safe for them yet. Call him back and see what he wants.”

  “Alright. I’ll call him as soon as we get cleaned up.” We put the boards and wetsuits in the back of my van. We get in, I start the engine and we head for DJ’s house. I cross over the freeway, wait for the light to change and turn left onto El Camino Real. As we’re driving through town, quiet at this time of day, I notice a pair motorcycles in my rear view mirror. They were following us when we left the parking lot at the beach. I look ahead just as a car pulls out in front of me and I slam on my breaks.

  DJ looks up from his texting, “What the hell, Bobby?”

  Suddenly, one of the motorcycles is pulling alongside of the van and I see a gun in the rider’s hand. I swerve, trying to force the motorcycle off balance. He dodges two cars in the oncoming traffic, pulls up again and fires a couple of shots at us, blowing out the windshield, showering us with glass. The other motorcycle is coming up fast on DJ’s side of the van. I swerve to keep him at bay. I notice that he also has a gun.

  “Fuck, Bobby! Get us the hell out of here!” DJ shouts.

  “I’m trying, but these guys are working together. My gun is in the glove box. Grab it, rack the slide, flip the safety off and hand it to me.”

  “What the f– it’s in the van?! You drive around with a loaded gun!?” He yells, head down, rummaging through the glove box.

  “Just give it to me!” I’m looking for a place to pull off onto a side street. There’s not much traffic, but I don’t want to hurt anybody who’s not trying to hurt me first.

  “You can’t drive and fire a gun at the same time, you asshole!”

  “Shit! Where’s a damn sheriff when you need one? See if you can get a clear shot at the motorcycle. Aim low. Try not to hit anybody.”

  “Jesus, Bobby, I don’t know.”

  “Just release the safety, aim for the tires and pull the fucking trigger!”

  The guys on the motorcycles are trying to pull up next to us and I’m doing my best to make sure they don’t. I keep swerving from side to side but they speed off ahead of us. Then out of nowhere a car suddenly pulls up behind us and I notice in the rearview mirror that the passenger has a gun sticking out his window. I was paying too close attention to the motorcyclists and not paying attention to what was happening behind us. My mistake.

  “DJ, if you can get a clean shot at the car behind us, take it. The guys on the motorcycles have disappeared.”

  DJ leans out of the van window, closes his eyes and shoots off three rounds in rapid succession, blowing out their windshield. I look for the motorcycles but I don’t see them anywhere. The tires on the car squeal as the driver tries to pull up on DJ’s side of the van. DJ fires three more shots at the car and again it falls back. The passenger leans out of the window and fires a half a dozen shots at us, blowing out the rear and side windows.

  “Crap. Where did they go? Keep a sharp lookout for the motorcycles. I’m going to take a right at Pico and see if we can catch the sheriff’s attention at the city yard.”

  “Bobby, the car’s not following us anymore and neither are the motorcycles.”

  “Just keep your eyes open.”

  I make a right on Pico and pass the new outlet mall built on what used to be tomato fields when we were kids. Just then, one of the motorcycles appears in front of us, coming right at us, his gun firing. His aim is off because he’s trying to steer the bike, but he still manages to get a shot over our heads that buries itself in the roof of the van.

  “DJ!” I shout, “Shoot that asshole before he kills us!”

  DJ holds the gun straight out through the broken windshield, both hands gripping the handle. He closes his eyes, turns his head slightly, takes aim and fires off the rest of the clip. Unbelievably, about fifty feet in front of the van, the gunman is blown backwards off the motorcycle. The bike skids to the side and I crank the wheel to the left, hoping to miss the bike, now sliding to the right of the van. I jump the curb, blowing out one of the front tires. We come to a stop as the motorcycle slides to a stop beside the van.

  “Drop your weapons!”

  We turn to see – finally – a sheriff’s car with its doors open and a lone sheriff yelling into
a microphone, crouched behind the open driver’s side door. “Now!” he repeats. “Drop your weapons, turn around and walk slowly toward me. I want to see your hands!”

  “You know, Bobby” says DJ quietly, as we get out of the van and he sets the gun on the ground. “Some days, it’s not easy being your friend.”

  We walk toward the cruiser, hands up and the officer points down.

  “On the ground. Now,” he shouts. “Put your hands behind your head.”

  “Shit,” I say under my breath as I do what I’m told.

  Chapter 39

  “Damn it, you two! No one, I repeat no one drives through San Clemente and shoots up my town! Have you got that?!” roars Captain Sprague. “You are so lucky no one was hurt. There was no major damage to any of the businesses on El Camino Real, other than Roger Merrill’s art gallery.”

  “Have you identified the guy on the bike?” I ask.

  “His name is Thomas Whitman. He’s a trained mercenary who works for the highest bidder. Currently we are assuming he was hired by General Sandoval.” says Sprague. “Why didn’t you cowboys just wait for us instead of starting a gunfight?”

  DJ has his head down. I never should have asked him to fire the gun. I’m trying to figure out how to explain this, when Agent Delaney walks into the room.

  “Captain Sprague, these men are under the protection of the Justice Department and are to be released into my custody right now,” he says as he hands the Captain a court order.

  Sprague puts the papers down on his desk without looking at them. “Agent Delaney, these men may have just shot an agent working for General Sandoval and I, for one, would like some answers. My office has cooperated with the Feds throughout this entire matter and all I want is for them to answer a few questions, then they can go. Is that alright with you, Agent Delany?”

  If Delany hears the contempt in Sprague’s voice, he doesn’t show it. “Captain Sprague, in the spirit of cooperation between our two departments, you may ask your questions, but please make it as brief as possible. I have my own questions for these men.”

  Crap. I thought Delany was going to get us out of here before we had to deal with Murphy’s boss, whose face is an epic shade of crimson right now.

  After another half-hour of questioning, Captain Sprague seems to be satisfied that any actions we took were in self-defense. I do most of the talking, since DJ still isn’t saying much.

  Sprague looks at Delaney and says, “These two knuckleheads are all yours. Good luck with them.” He gets up and walks out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him.

  “Let’s go you two,” says Delaney and we follow him out of the San Clemente Police Services Building.

  ◆◆◆

  “Murphy,” says Captain Sprague from the other side of the one-way glass, watching as Delany escorts Paladin and Frasier out of the room. “Keep an eye on those clowns. I want to know what Delaney wants with them.

  “Any sign of the car or the other motorcycle that were chasing them?” Murphy asks.

  “No. For right now I believe their story, but just watch them.”

  “You got it, Captain. I think I can catch up with them at the boat in a couple of hours. I don’t think I’ll have any problems.”

  “Make sure of that. Keep me in the loop, Detective. I mean it this time. You’re lucky I’m so busy with all this shit right now, but I haven’t forgotten that we’ll need to have a little chat, soon detective, very soon” Sprague says, giving Murphy a very direct stare before walking out of the room.

  As Murphy leaves the building, he pulls out his phone and calls Debbie to tell her he’s working late again and not to hold dinner. He reaches in his pocket for his keys and looks up to see Alexis leaning on his car.

  “Murphy, we need to talk,” she says before he can greet her. She walks around to her Toyota parked beside Murphy’s car and opens the passenger side door. “Get in,” she says.

  Not a question, but an order. Murphy notices as he gets into the car. She closes the door behind him then walks around to the driver’s side and gets behind the wheel. She starts the car and drives out of the police parking lot and onto the I-5 Freeway, heading south.

  “Where are we going?” Murphy asks.

  “I just want to talk to you alone and get some feedback on what your thoughts about these latest turn of events. I need answers. Too many things have happened that need an explanation,” she says as she the merges car into traffic.

  “Good idea. I think it’s time we shared. Maybe between the two of us, we can figure a few things out.”

  As they drive down I-5, through Camp Pendleton and its twenty-six miles of almost untouched California real estate, towards Oceanside, Alexis recounts the facts of the case as she sees them playing out, from Micky’s quirky note in the beginning to DJ and Bobby being assaulted in San Clemente just today; Murphy fills in gaps for her.

  “It just feels like there is someone who is feeding Sandoval inside information,” she says finally. “It seems to me we’re always two steps behind.”

  They drive in silence for a while, the ocean on Murphy’s side of the car, and he watches two Blackhawk helicopters fly back towards the Marine Base. After a few minutes, Murphy says quietly, “Do you think the leak could be on your side of things, Alexis?”

  She looks at him, shocked, as if she had never considered that possibility. “It seems to me that all of us have been one step behind from the beginning. Bobby and DJ don’t even know this, but DJ didn’t shoot the attacker on the motorcycle. He was hit by a high-powered rifle. I feel like someone is cleaning up with deadly force. They kill them before we even have a chance to take them into custody. I don’t know what to think. I will say this: there’s a leak somewhere and it’s high up in the chain of command. It could be on either side, but I think it’s on yours.”

  “Just a minute,” Murphy bristles. Is she accusing him of being the leak? Is that what this is about?

  “Relax, Murph.” she says knowing what he’s thinking. “We know it’s not you.

  He looks over at her and says, “I hate to admit it, Alexis, but I think you’re right.” He turns back toward the window, wondering if he should confide his all of his suspicions. They continue in silence until they reach the city of Oceanside where Alexis pulls off, turns left and drives back onto the north-bound onramp and back toward San Clemente. Sharing time is over.

  Chapter 40

  “General, the submarine is loaded and the crew is ready to get underway as soon as you give the order to set sail, sir.”

  “Thank you, Simmons. You are dismissed.”

  “Yes sir,” Simmons says as he closes the door behind himself.

  The General had had extensive cosmetic surgery over the last year and it has paid off, at least so far. He had walked through a hotel full of police and nobody noticed him. He looked like all the other tourists staying near Disneyland. Hiding in plain sight. He picks up his encrypted satellite phone and calls the captain of the submarine.

  “Yes, General?” comes the voice over the phone.

  “Captain,” he says. “I understand you are ready to sail?”

  “Yes, sir. All systems on the sub are ready and the drugs and weapons are packed in the water-tight containers for delivery. Our passenger is very anxious to arrive in America so he can carry out his mission.” His voice gives away no trace of his Russian identity.

  The passenger, Suhail Aziz, is a madman, driven by his belief that he will change history if he can kill the President of the United States. The General is being paid millions of dollars to deliver the lunatic. The General doesn’t care what happens to the President of the United States. What he cares about, is that half of the money that has already been deposited in his bank account in the Cayman Islands. The balance will be transferred upon delivery of Aziz to a fishing boat off the coast of California.

  “Excellent. You will set sail at sunset this evening. It’s imperative to keep the submarine at a speed of no more than si
xteen knots in order to prevent the Americans from detecting our movements. You will remain on schedule at all times, Captain, regardless of any problems you may encounter along the way. I will check in with you during your voyage. Good luck, Captain.”

  Captain Yuri Popovich is a famous Russian submarine commander. The submarine itself was built by the Russian Special Services to transport an elite strike team in and out of any country that needed to be reminded the Russians still had teeth. But, as chaos and the loss of value of the Russian economy took its toll, General Sandoval was able to make a cash deal with the head of the Russian Special Services for the employment of the submarine. Captain Popovich agreed to come and work for The General, bringing the core of his crew with him, for a fee of five million dollars. The General considers this a small sum for the expertise he is getting. The sub itself was built from a metal compound discovered in Siberia a few years ago. When applied over the submarine’s shell, the compound makes it essentially undetectable. The propulsion method is a radical system originally designed in the ‘70s, at the height of the Cold War, that virtually makes no sound. Between the composite skin and its propulsion system, this submarine is undetectable.

  When the captain piloted the submarine away from Russian waters, he had shadowed a U.S. Navy L.A. class attack submarine. After three days of maneuvers, the captain was sure the Americans were not able to detect the Russian sub. Confident in the near invisibility of the submarine, The General’s plan was for the boat to come into American waters and stay inside of San Clemente Island, a U.S. naval station with a submarine base. The location was within 36 miles of the California coastline and 20 miles of Catalina Island, where stupid Americans partied on their multi-million dollar yachts.

  Once the sub had entered U.S. waters, the crew would begin off-loading the drugs and weapons, sealed in water-tight compartments, at selected sites along the route. The contraband would be shot out through the aft torpedo tubes at the designated locations, but only after the money from each buyer was deposited in The General’s Cayman Island bank account. Once all the drugs were retrieved by the runners, The General would meet up with John Gomez and pick up his cash delivery. The General needed cash to pay off the Captain, his crew and the bribes that were required for his safety in his new country.