The Illuminati (44 page)
Amelia whispered, “Good luck . . . and Godspeed.” Then she pulled the limo up behind the waiting Caprice and ran to the opened driver's door.
As she got in, two people, a young man and a woman, sat up in the back seat, and she drove off.
When they exited the alley, the dark car pulled out several blocks behind the brown Caprice. Amelia smiled.
“We have them,” the driver said to his companion who immediately called headquarters. “We're following a 1993 Caprice. Wells and the girl are in the back seat. They're headed toward the airport.”
“It's too easy,” Lively shouted into the microphone. “There's been another switch. I want a second car to wait where they are. See who comes out of that alley.”
“This is Car Two. We copy,” said the agent known as Kruger.
A few minutes later the garbage truck exited the alley.
“We have a city disposal truck coming out of the alley,” Kruger reported.
“Follow it!” Lively commanded.“And stay well back. I don't want them to know we're on to them. I'll have extra units along the way to change off.”
Lively was excited. He knew they had spoiled the plan to free Wells. Now he would show them who was smarter.
The garbage truck continued along its normal route, collecting garbage as it went. Karen thought she was going to be sick, the smell was so bad.
“Hang in there, Karen,” Jeff said as he squeezed her hand. But he was unsure of his own stomach if they stayed in the truck very long. “Try thinking about something else.”
“I have,” Karen replied as she held a tissue to her nose. “But all that comes to mind is garbage . . . and rats . . .”
The garbage truck continued on its assigned route for the better part of an hour, picking up trash all along the way. Jeff was afraid for awhile that they might be suffocated as the trash piled up around them. Then suddenly the truck turned off the assigned route and headed toward the Maryland suburbs at maximum speed, which was about forty miles an hour.
In the trailing car, Kruger reported the change. “Control, the truck has turned onto Arlington Boulevard. I think it's heading to a rendezvous point between here and Fairfax.”
“What's out there?” Lively asked Marla West on the phone.
“I'll check,” she replied as she punched up the possible locations on the computer screen. “There's a small airport about twenty miles from where the truck is now. They could have a small jet there.”
“Get a LAARS team under way,” he commanded.
“Are you going to shoot them down over a populated area?” she asked incredulously. “There are a lot of people living around that airport.”
“Just get the LAARS team under way,” Lively snapped again. “Wells is a lot more important than a few civilians on the ground.”
“Okay,” she said as she placed the call to her special forces group at Andrews. “They'll have to go by helicopter if they're going to beat them though.”
“Have them stay out of sight until we know what they're going to do with Wells,” Lively commanded. “But stay ready.”
Thirty minutes later when the garbage truck pulled onto the runway at Merrifield, the helicopter was already in place behind a hill three miles away. The side door to the ancient Huey was open and the agent had a LAARS ground-to-air rocket launcher armed and ready.
When the truck stopped, the driver yelled, “When I lower the tail, you get out and run. Follow the agentâshe'll lead you.”
Wells heard another clank in the truck, which he assumed was the driver slamming his door. Then he heard the tail hydraulics as the lift went down. A young woman was waiting outside for them. He noticed her nose wrinkle up as they exited the trash pile. They followed without a word as she led the way.
Two minutes later a small business jet was taxiing down the runway. It paused for a moment to allow the engines to spool up to 80 percent power for takeoff. Then the pilot released the brakes and the plane roared down the short runway. Since the plane was powered for a full load of twelve passengers and carried only three, it virtually leaped off the runway, climbing rapidly into the cloudless sky.
The helicopter rose above the hill and positioned itself directly below the flight path of the plane that was, by that time, a thousand feet higher. The agent with the rocket launcher aimed at the hot exhaust of the business jet. A small puff of smoke and fire like a large Roman candle were the only signs to mark the launch of the converted heat-seeking missile. It streaked up toward the accelerating jet. Even at its maximum speed of 430 miles an hour, the jet would have been no match for the Mach-three missile. It took the rocket only seconds to catch it.
Those on the ground saw the fireball as the plane disintegrated when the rocket hit the engine turbines and exploded with the force of a 200-pound bomb. The fragile machine was blown into a thousand tiny bits. Fire from the onboard fuel rained down over Interstate Highway 66, destroying cars unfortunate enough to be directly in the flight path.
“It's done,” the pilot of the Huey reported to control.
“Any survivors?” Lively asked calmly.
“Not a chance,” the pilot reported. “It came down in a million pieces. They never knew what hit them.”
That's too bad
, Lively thought.
It takes half the fun out of killing them
.
From the other surveillance vehicle, the driver called in. “This is Surveillance One,” he said. “We're still in sight of the Caprice. What do you want us to do?”
“Take them out,” Lively said casually.
The dark green government car accelerated until it pulled parallel to the old Caprice driven by Amelia Durant. The agent on the passenger's side rolled down his window, preparing to rake the vehicle with his uzi. Instead, he found himself staring into the muzzles of two assault rifles held by the two Mossad agents in the back seat of the Caprice. The last thing either man in the surveillance vehicle ever heard was the startled government agent shouting, “What the . . .?”
Lively knew nothing about what was happening to his surveillance team. He assumed they were eliminating the traitors. He turned and walked out of the control room and back to his own office. When he sat down he poured himself a drink and called Rutland. “It's Lively,” he said sharply to the secretary who answered. “Let me speak to Rutland.”
Rutland picked up the receiver when the chime sounded, signaling a waiting call. “Yes?”
“It's Mr. Lively,” the nervous secretary reported.
“Go ahead,” he responded as she patched the call through.
“It's done, sir,” Lively reported with a smirk on his face.
“You're sure?” Rutland snapped. “I don't want any mistakes.”
“I'm sure,” Lively said cordially, in spite of the resentment he was harboring inside. He didn't really like Rutland much. One day he would need to teach the arrogant political lackey a lesson, he decided.
Rutland hung up the phone and jotted a note to be forwarded to Razzak in Israel.
He will be pleased
, Rutland thought as he relaxed a little. Wells was no longer a liability.
“Randy, you just can't go out again,”Harriet pleaded. “Why don't we stay here? We're doing fine.”
“We're not doing fine, Harriet,” he responded compassionately. “We're hiding out in the woods while a lot of our friends are probably in need of help.”
“But you saw the television,” she protested, her eyes beginning to tear. “All of our group have been labeled terrorists. You'll be arrested.”
“Harriet, I know this has all been hard on you, but you've got to get a hold of yourself. God does not want us to hide out when we could be helping others. This place can house ten or twelve more people if we sacrifice a little.”
“Twelve more people!”Harriet couldn't believe her ears. “Randy, you brought in five people the last time you went out.”
“And I'll try to bring five more every day, if I can. Someone or something has made it possible for my card to still work in the system. You know that most of the Christians have had their accounts frozen. Now they're talking about applying a laser ID number to everyone. When that happens, none of us will be able to buy anything. I've heard rumors about an underground network. Apparently a lot of others feel the government is wrong, too. I want to make contact with those people if possible.”
Unknown to Randy, Jeff Wells was his benefactor. When Dr. Rhinehart had first attempted to freeze the Christians' accounts, Jeff had instructed the Data-Net system not only to unfreeze the accounts but to give them unlimited credit within the system. Until the laser ID was implemented, they would still be able to buy and sell.
“I know you're right, Randy, and I do want to help. But it's all so frightening. I wasn't ready for what has been happening.”
“No one could have been ready for what we're going through, honey. But if we think only of ourselves, then the ones behind all this have won. As long as we're willing to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others, God will intercede; I just know it.”