Thunder in the East (8 page)

They were also the highest-priced call girls in Football City.

"Big doings downtown last night," Kara said, returning to rubbing his shoulder. "The Executive Club was blown up. A lot of Circle big shots went up with it."

Hunter tried to look surprised, but could manage only a satisfied smile. It was apparent that Elvis and the others had gotten Phase Two off on a good start.

"My trick told me there were also some explosions down near the docks," Jackie said, pouring

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him a cup of coffee. "I suppose you know nothing about any of this?" she asked him.

Hunter shrugged. "What would I know?" he said. "I'm just an innocent bystander. Violence gives me a headache."

"Sure it does," Kara said with no small amount of disbelief. She knew he kept a stash of hand grenades, ammunition, an M-16 and some other crazy electronic contraption under their bed, as well as several boxes filled with different styles of clothing. One night he would go out looking like a vagrant, the next night, he'd be dressed to the nines. He had Circle Army uniforms, from colonels to privates, plus uniforms of some of the Circle allies. She and Jackie knew he was involved in something very mysterious and dangerous every night. But they were much too discreet to ask him exactly what it was.

Besides, they really didn't want to know . . .

He finished his breakfast and reached out for Jackie to join them on the bed.

She was tall. At 6-1, just an inch shorter than he was. She had blonde hair, cut in the shag style and long, inviting legs. Kara on the other hand was a brunette, somewhat petite, but with a nice figure.

They both cuddled up to his chest. "What should we do today?" Kara asked. "I don't have my first appointment until after sundown."

He kissed them both and drew them closer to him. Despite the presence of the two beauties, he still felt empty. Even melancholy.

Too many things are missing ... he thought.

"Don't worry," he said, knowing he had a few hours to try to raise his spirits. "We'll think of something . . ."

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Viceroy Dick was fuming.

"What in hell happened down on those docks last night, Colonel?" he asked sternly.

They were in the Viceroy's working chamber. There were no teen age girls about; no massive quantity of cocaine. Viceroy Dick was dressed in his standard black Circle Army general's uniform and he looked all business.

Colonel Muss could only shrug at his question. "Someone blew up two piers and a small oil holding tank," he said. "We exchanged fire with them from the bridge, but by the time we got down to the docks, they were gone."

"And this bombing disrupted the prisoner executions?" Viceroy Dick was just about frothing at the mouth.

Muss nodded glumly. "They blew the docks and started firing on us," he said.

"We didn't know the extent of their strength, so we withdrew and postponed the executions."

Viceroy Dick pounded his desk top once-hard.

"You have no idea what could happen now, Colonel," he shouted. "If those goddamn Russians get wind of this, they can make big trouble for me. And that means big trouble for you, Muss."

Viceroy Dick took a minute to regain his composure. He wished he was within snorting distance of his cocaine bowl.

"Now who planted those bombs down at the docks? And where the hell did they come from?" he asked Muss sternly.

"It's hard to say, sir," Muss stumbled. "They probably had a boat and came across from the Illinois side. As to who they were, I guess they were saboteurs . . ."

"You guess they were saboteurs?" Viceroy Dick asked, his voice rising in anger. "And do you guess that they were also responsible for blowing up the Executive Club?"

"I ... I really don't know, sir," Muss admitted.

"We lost twenty seven officers last night," he told Muss. "Twenty seven men who were very close to the inner-workings of our army. Their knowledge and expertise will be sorely missed when it comes time for us to make our move ...

"Now you're responsible for the overall defense of this city inside and out, Colonel. That's why when I ask you for answers I'd better get some!"

"I've increased patrols around the city from downtown to the docks," Muss told him. "We'll triple the number of soldiers on-duty in the streets by tonight.

And we've increased patrols along our western border. We're also in the process of doubling the buffer zone minefields between us and them and we've in-90

creased our NightScope capability up and down our line."

"This is just standard bullshit, Colonel!" Dick screamed. "Just track down those saboteurs . . ."

Muss bowed to the waist. "Sir, believe me," he said.

"We will. And we will also accelerate the executions starting tonight. This part of our plan will not fail . . ."

Viceroy Dick simply stared at him. "It had better not, Muss," he said.

"Because if it does, you'll go over that bridge railing right along with the rest of the scum . . ."

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It was just past midnight when Hunter found the spot in the catacombs closest to the underground storage area he had spotted on the radar imager the night before.

Using the imager printout as a guide, he was able to determine that the storage area was four feet in from a particular junction of two tunnels on the very northeast section of the network. Confident that he had the correct location, he unstrapped the shovel from his back and started to dig.

It took him less than an hour to break through the clay soil, but once he did, he came to a thin, metal heating shaft which passed right through a thin concrete wall. Using his jack knife, he was able to chip a hole in the wall large enough for him to put his eye to.

It was completely dark on the other side of the wall, which was just the way he had hoped to find it. Working patiently for another half hour, he was able to cut a hole in the heat shaft wide enough for him to 92

squeeze through. Climbing into the shaft, it wasn't long before he came to a grate, which he quietly kicked out.

Only after he had passed through the grate opening and had his feet on solid ground did he unhook his flashlight and turn it on.

It was a parking garage, an old one that had been recently, and rather amateurishly, reinforced. But the construction of the facility wasn't what interested him. It was what it held. When he had viewed the area through the radar imager he had guessed it contained boxcars. It turned out he was wrong-but not by much.

The garage held more than one hundred tractor trailer trucks. Kenworth, Macks, Ward La France and many others, there were trucks of all shapes and sizes, each one hooked up to a plain, unpainted trailer.

"No way this is all to store ammunition," Hunter said to himself. It was so hot inside the garage, he was perspiring. Knowing that was a relief. Even the dummies who ran The Circle knew better than to store ammo in such a humid space.

Yet what did the trailers contain?

To find out, he climbed up on the back of one rig and tried to open its rear loading door. He yanked, but the door wouldn't budge. He jiggled the lock and handle and gave it another yank. Still, it would not open. He played the flashlight along the sides of the door.

That's when he saw that the door was welded shut.

"Now what the hell does this mean?" he wondered.

He checked several other trucks and found that they too had their doors welded shut.

He moved along the two lines of trucks. There were many more of them down here than had shown up on

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the imager's narrow beam. Easily 100 rigs or more.

But it was at the front of the garage that he saw the strangest vehicle of all

...

It was an APC that looked as if it had been stretched out half its size again.

It was painted gold, carried no guns or grenade launchers, only several long radio antennas. And although the custom-made vehicle had more than a dozen means of access, all but one of these was also welded shut.

The only hatchway not welded was the one over the driver's position and this was secured by a very sophisticated electronic lock. It defied 10 minutes of his expert lock-picking skills, his conclusion being that the device was laser activated.

He shook his head in frustration. The Circle was obviously hiding something in the trailers, something of such value to them that they welded everything shut. Yet, the treasure throve was mobile. He checked the fuel tanks on several of the trucks and noted that they were all filled to the top. And the fact that the garage was so close to the reconstructed bridges was, he knew, also no coincidence.

It all added up to only one thing: whatever was locked inside the containers, The Circle could move it out of the garage, and presumably out of the city at a moment's notice . . .

94

Kara was relaxing, dressed only in a bikini, in the rear cabin of the luxurious river yacht when she heard the two jets pass high overhead.

"Goddamn airplanes again," .her customer, a Circle Army lieutenant colonel named Hoover, cursed as he opened a bottle of wine.

They both listened as the two jets screamed above the city. The pop-pop of antiaircraft fire started up at just about the same time as the air raid sirens began wailing.

"Sergeant!" Hoover called out to the man in charge of his personal security squad. "You'd better have that Stinger warmed up."

"It's ready if we need it, sir," the reply came back from above decks.

"Are we in any danger?" Kara asked, the whining of the jets and the booming of the AA guns growing in intensity.

"No, my dear," Hoover said. "Not out here. The 95

bastards always insist on bombing the center of the city, which is why I'm glad you suggested our little party should take place out here-on a peaceful cruise on the river. If they come anywhere near here, my boys will chase them away."

He sat down beside her, handed her a glass of wine and routinely began fondling her breasts.

"These air raids are getting more frequent," she said, ignoring his groping hands and sipping her wine. "And the bombings downtown. Everyone says the Westerners are going to attack the city soon."

Hoover gulped his wine nervously. "That's bullshit, honey," he said, putting on a brave front.

"They're just a bunch of cowboys trying to spook us

»

Just then, the yacht shuddered with the sound of two bombs crashing down in the downtown section of the city.

Kara shivered. "Well, they're doing a good job . . ." she said.

The air raid lasted 20 minutes, and finally the whine of the jets disappeared and the steady thumping of the AA guns died down.

"Feel better?" Hoover asked Kara, handing her yet another glass of wine. "I hope this won't affect your . . . performance."

She didn't answer him. Instead she took the glass of wine and drained it in two gulps.

"Colonel?" a voice above decks called down. "We've got a small boat pulling alongside. One guy driving, he's got a girl in back . . ."

Hoover clapped his hands in glee. "Splendid!" he called out. Then turning to Kara he said: "Your

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partner for the evening is here . . ."

Again, Kara just nodded. Hoover wasn't as fat and ugly as most of the Circle Army officers that made up her clientele. But he was just as depraved They heard the small boat arrive, drop off its passenger, then depart. Soon the sergeant was leading a young girl down into the cabin, carrying a small suitcase for her.

"Thank you, sergeant," Hoover said. "Now lock that door and don't disturb us for anything short of all-out war."

He turned to the new arrival. "And what is your name, my dear?"

"Angie," was her reply. She was one of Viceroy Dick's teen beauty brigade, lent to Hoover as a reward for his loyalty. Like the rest of Dick's stable, she was young, blonde, used, confused and addicted to cocaine.

"All right, ladies," Hoover said. "Use that cabin over there to get ...

prepared. And please hurry."

Kara got up and took the young girl by the hand, leading her into the small adjacent cabin.

"Don't mind this one," she told her. "He's really not as bad as the rest."

Angie nodded and opened the suitcase. "I went shopping today," she said, nervously. "I tried to get everything he wanted, but what I couldn't get, I borrowed."

Kara put her hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed it. She was sweet, pretty kid-not the type one would expect to be mixed up in this business. But then again, none of the Viceroy's girls looked that way.

"Really, there's nothing to be nervous about," Kara 97

told her as she kissed her lightly on the cheek. "He won't even hardly touch us . . ."

Angie smiled slightly and emptied out the contents of the suitcase. Then both of them went about the business of getting dressed.

"Hurry, girls!" they heard Hoover call out from the next room. "I can't hold out much longer . . ."

Kara and Angie came out of the small cabin ten minutes later and presented themselves to Hoover.

They were dressed just the way he wanted them to be-their clothes, their hair and make-up were just right.

"Oh, girls," Hoover said, his voice jittery with anticipation. "You are perfect ..."

Both were wearing identical outfits: a female-version of a black tuxedo, a silk blouse, open to the navel and exposing the bosom, a garter-belt holding up black stockings and short leather boots. Each wore a string of fake diamonds around their neck and a glass tiara to hold back their hair. The overall effect was both regal and trashy at the same time.

Hoover opened a bottle of champagne and poured out three glasses. Then he opened a small snuff box and took a long, strong sniff of cocaine.

"This is heaven, girls . . ." he said.

They drank the champagne as Hoover continually insisted both women turn pirouettes for him. "You look just like her . . ." he moaned over and over.

He leaned back and unfastened his belt buckle.

"Kara, you know what to do," he said.

She smiled at him and then slowly, like an actress in a high-class porn movie, she began removing Angie's clothes and rubbing the young girl's body.