Holding Their Own: The Toymaker (31 page)

“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” came the screamed surrender as the heat from the coals flooded Hack’s brain.

Bishop paused, holding tight, Hack’s struggles to withdraw his limb worthless against the vice-like grip that held it.

“They’re at the mine. They’re launching weather balloons with the Cobalt attached to detonators,” tumbled the rushed confession.

“Where is the mine?”

“Just northwest of here. On the ridge. Less than a mile. There are seven balloons, seven cases of Cobalt.”

“How do I disable them?” Bishop asked.

“You can’t. They’re on automatic altimeters. When they reach 80,000 feet, the radiation will be released.”

Bishop released his grip on Hack’s arm, motioning for Grissom to tend the toymaker’s wound. Turning to his shocked wife, the Texan shook his head. “I think we’re fucked.”

“Can we get in touch with Bliss? Have them send airplanes to shoot them down?”

Bishop looked out the window, noting the dusk. “I don’t know…. Even if we could call them, can the plane’s radar see the balloons? It’s going to be dark in just a few minutes. No way they’ll be able to see them at night.”

“They can’t be shot down?” Terri asked, getting desperate.

“Hell, I don’t know. Who has ever shot at weather balloons?”

“What about this, Mr. Bishop?” Kevin said, holding up his sniper rifle.

The Texan paused, trying to run the numbers in his head. “Maybe I can stop some of them.”

“Every one you bring down means fewer people that will suffer,” Terri added.

Nodding, Bishop rushed to fill his pack with magazines. Grissom looked up from Hack’s bleeding foot and said, “My night vision and equipment is in the back room. I saw it there. That will help us.”

“You have to stay here, Sergeant. You’re hurt and besides, somebody has to protect my wife and son and keep an eye on this madman,” Bishop said, glancing at Hack.

“I can help, sir,” Kevin announced, reaching across for one of the guard’s discarded carbines. “I can’t walk, but I can still shoot.”

Terri was holding her pistol, “Don’t go alone, Bishop. Take Grissom with you. Kevin and I can hold down the fort until you get back.”

Nodding, Bishop motioned for Grissom to get his shit together. “If you slow me down, I’ll leave you behind. Let’s roll.”

As the PJ was scrambling around, Hack continued to moan and whimper. A thought occurred to Grissom. Reopening his medical kit, he produced an item resembling a cigar tube. “This will make him easier to manage, and reduce his whining,” he announced.

“What is it?” Terri asked.

“Morphine,” came the response. “He’ll be in happy land in less than five minutes.”

Everyone watched as Grissom flipped off the end cap with his thumb and then plunged the device into Hack’s thigh. The reaction was nearly instantaneous.

The Texan saw the PJ stuffing something in a pouch on his vest. “What’s that?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

“It’s my Sat-phone,” came the reply. “Will that help?”

“Can you call Fort Bliss?” Bishop asked.

“I can’t call anyone unless they have a telephone system up and running. I only used it to file our status reports. I don’t even know who I was talking to or where they’re located.”

“Could they radio Bliss?” Terri continued to push.

“I’m not sure. We can try.”

The PJ switched the unit on, punching a series of buttons while studying the screen. He held the unit like a phone and waited.

“CONUS CIC, state your business,” came the warbled answer.

“This is Rat-pack 3. Repeat, this is Rat-pack 3, I need to speak with the OD (Officer on Duty).”

“Wait one.”

The sergeant’s eyes darted between Bishop and Terri, knowing they were very short on time. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a voice came on the line. “Go Rat-pack 3.”

“I need a communication sent to Fort Bliss. Is that possible?”

“Umm… I’m not sure. Describe the situation, please.”

Rolling his eyes at the desk-jockey’s fear of messing up, the PJ stated the main reason. “There are 90 pounds of highly radioactive material that may have just been launched toward Texas. I need help in stopping the attack. I need to get a message through to Bliss – right now.”

There was a pause at the other end, Grissom sure he could hear voices talking it over. “What’s the message, Rat-pack 3? We’ll do our best.”

It dawned on the PJ that he didn’t know what to say. Frustrated and knowing time was running out, he said, “Details to follow,” and handed Bishop the phone.

The Texan didn’t hesitate, “This message is for General Owens and Diana Brown. Sacagawea requires extract at HQ. Repeat, Sacagawea requires extract at HQ. Come heavy.”

The officer on the other end read Bishop the message back, and then the call was disconnected.

Three minutes later, Bishop and Grissom were rushing out the door.

Diana was at the base hospital, nervously speculating over Bishop and Terri’s progress. A knock on the doorframe caused both patient and visitor to glance up, a bright faced young man in uniform standing in the threshold.

“I have an urgent message for Miss Diana Brown,” he said, producing a sealed envelope.

After thanking the messenger, Diana tore open the package and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She read it aloud to Nick, unsure of the meaning.

The big man tried to sit up, a grimace of pain stopping that maneuver cold. “They’re asking for someone to come and get them,” he said. “General Owens needs to know about this right away.”

Diana scanned the paper again, “It says here the general was copied on the message.”

On cue, the base’s commander appeared in the doorway, getting right down to business. “I’ve been on the radio with the Pentagon. It was one of their original team members who called this in. He said that their PJ made the call, but then a strange voice sounded the message. What do you make of that?”

“Can we listen to a recording of their call?”

“Yes, it’s on the way over here. Sorry to interrupt your rest, Nick, but there’s something on this transmission that wasn’t included in the original message.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll see... or rather hear it for yourself in just a moment.”

A few moments later, another soldier knocked on the door, carrying a laptop computer under his arm. With the general’s permission, he opened the lid, and the room was filled with a voice identifying himself as Rat-pack 3.

And then Grissom’s statement about the 90 pounds of Cobalt-60 played, the two Alliance leaders both growing pale at the same moment.

Diana and Nick continued to listen intently, some relief filling the room when Bishop’s voice streamed through the speakers. “They’re still alive!” Diana reacted happily.

Owens quickly put a damper on any celebration. “My friend at the Pentagon warned me not to send in troops. They are hopping mad about the radiation release, and even more pissed that we have people inside New Mexico. What are your orders?”

Nick and Diana exchanged a glance, Nick knowing exactly what the Alliance leader had in mind. “If we can get a couple of Blackhawks ready, I think we have a reasonable solution to the political side of the problem,” Diana said.

“My birds are your birds,” Owens replied. “What’s the plan?”

Grim was just retiring for the evening, bored with his book, and having already cleaned his weapon twice. His wife had made a grand dinner, sensing her husband needed a pick-me-up. As usual, the contractor didn’t volunteer any information about what was troubling him so.

The small bungalow in Alpha had been a gift from the Alliance, allowing Grim to relocate his wife and daughter away from Memphis and The Circus. Everyone seemed to be happier in the small Texas town.

Normally, when at home between missions with the SAINT teams, Grim was all about spending time with his family. He’d learned long ago that time was precious, and he might not be coming home from the next deployment.

Every minute he could spend with his girls was priceless and to be relished.

But not this time. Grim had returned from New Mexico sullen and withdrawn. His wife had seen the same pattern of behavior a few times before, some female instinct apprising her that her husband had suffered the loss of someone near and dear. She’d found quiet, unconditional love was the best therapy.

Peeking in on his sleeping daughter, Grim heard the car engine. Even in Alpha, with the supply of fuel increasing every day, a motor at this time of night was unusual.

The knock on the front door was really weird.

With a pistol in his belt, Grim answered, surprised to see a soldier in uniform standing on his porch. The first thing that went through the contractor’s mind was the ruckus he’d caused at Bliss. Had some asshat officer decided to press additional charges?

“Yes,” Grim answered, trying to decide if he was going to cooperate with the young man.

“Sir, there’s been a message received from New Mexico. Councilwoman Brown has requested your presence at Fort Bliss. She further added that you should come ready to deploy, sir.”

A smile stretched across Grim’s face when his wife appeared from the bedroom in her robe. “What’s wrong, hun?” she asked with a sleepy voice.

“They need me at Bliss,” he answered, kissing her cheek as he went by. “Sorry… but I have to run.”

Grim’s kit was all packed and ready in the corner. Hefting his weapon and ruck, the contractor turned and dashed back to his wife. “Tell my little girl her daddy loves her. And the same goes for you. I shouldn’t be gone long. Just going out for some milk.”

That last statement caused his wife to smile. “Going out for some milk,” was their secret code phrase meaning, “I’m all right. I’ll be back soon. I love you. I have to do this.”

After a quick hug and kiss, Grim was eagerly bounding down the front steps, hefting his pack toward the waiting Humvee.

“I’m coming, Kevin,” he whispered. “I’m on my way, kid. We’re walking out together this time.”

It didn’t take Bishop long to find the balloon launchers.

The first hint was one of the silver colored units reflecting a glowing silver as its height caught the last of the sun’s rays. It was nearly impossible to miss against the backdrop of the dark sky.

“Aren’t you going to shoot it?” Grissom asked, pointing toward the still low balloon.