Direct Fire Page 11

  Ratta began driving the heavy rig west on I-40 and took the first turnoff at the Blue Ridge Parkway. He then drove a few miles before taking a gravel turnoff that led to a road that would wind them toward the base camp.

  Zakir’s hopes grew as they descended into the valley and passed the fire tower where he kept a sniper on sentry duty.

  “Did you disable the GPS?” Zakir asked Ratta.

  “Yes, of course. That and four RFID tags,” Ratta replied. “Does not mean there are no other tracking devices, but the primary ones are not functioning right now, and I’ve got the portable JackRabbit to block the signals.”

  Zakir had purchased a JackRabbit Jammer expressly to block any hidden sending unit on the Mack truck.

  “Good. We will want it to work Saturday, but not now.”

  Ratta drove the large tractor trailer into the valley where the Bible camp had once been. Zakir’s men flocked around the truck and began performing their duties.

  “Over there, as we discussed,” Zakir said. He pointed at camouflage netting stitched tightly beneath a thick canopy of trees. Ratta pulled the truck beneath the netting and shut the engine.

  Immediately men began to work on opening the door to the trailer. Zakir expected to find more security personnel in the trailer, so he had his fighters assume covered positions behind rocks and the Mitsubishi trucks he kept on hand. Right after the two men opened the doors with bolt cutters and crowbars, they spilled to either side of the opening, avoiding the fusillade of gunfire that rained at them.

  His support team fired precision shots at the two security guards, avoiding striking the precious cargo inside. Eventually, his commandos overwhelmed the two men inside the trailer.

  Zakir had no time to relish the victory. Gavril texted him, and Zakir immediately dispatched a two-man team to address a developing situation.

  He watched them bounce east along the dirt road as he thought about the enormity of what he had just done.

  He turned to Ratta and said, “Follow them with the Skunk Copter.”

  Ratta looked up at Zakir and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Zakir turned and studied the trailer, its doors angled open wide, like a hungry beast.

  In the beast’s gullet was the bounty he had anticipated: an SB-61 tactical nuclear missile.

  * * *

  Special Agent Oxendine pressed his PUSH TO TALK button and said, “Why are we putting down?”

  Prominent to the north was the Biltmore Estate; to the south the French Broad River.

  “Running out of gas. Just be a few minutes,” Setz said.

  “Where is the car?” Oxendine asked. They were still talking through the headsets over the internal communications system.

  “Last ping on it was at a rest stop just west of Asheville. I didn’t want to get over her, spook her, and then have to turn around. Better to let them think she is unobserved.”

  Oxendine agreed but couldn’t let Setz’s independent decision making stand.

  “Not your decision to make, Bev,” Oxendine said. “I’m the tactical commander.”

  “Au contraire, sir. I’m the pilot in charge, sir.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass with me, Setz. You know what I’m saying,” Oxendine said.

  McQueary looked at him and shook his head, as if to say, Lay off.

  “I do, but when it comes to the safety of this aircraft and my crew and passengers, I’m in charge. End of discussion,” Setz countered.

  Oxendine seethed for a moment, knowing the pilot was right and had checkmated him. Anything he said would be said simply to get the last word in and appear to be in charge.

  “All I’m saying is, let me know next time. Time is of the essence,” Oxendine said.

  “Roger that, sir,” Setz replied.

  Oxendine felt the aircraft bump down on the ground and watched the pilot talk to who he assumed was the fixed base operator, who would be providing the fuel. Several other commercial and private aircraft were on the ground moving to the terminal or runway. It was a busy time of year around the mountains with the leaves changing color.

  Oxendine continued to see stopped vehicles everywhere, wrecks, a few ambulances and emergency personnel tending to injured citizens. People were standing in the roads looking dazed and confused. Not wanting to talk to Director Black again, he called the operations center and found a longtime special agent named Bud Hathaway from Down East in Morehead City.

  “Bud, man, what’s going on with these cars?”

  “Word we’re getting is that the military’s Strategic Command is saying that someone planted a bug in the service centers and it was dormant for some like a year or something and set to activate at exactly nine o’clock this morning.”

  “Just in North Carolina?” Oxendine asked.

  “Hell no. It’s everywhere, man. All over the damn country.”

  Oxendine looked out the window. There was still no gas truck heading their way. Holy shit, he thought. Maybe the gas truck was hit with the cyberbomb, or whatever it was.

  “It’s obviously not all vehicles. Was it certain makes and models?” Oxendine asked.

  “Roger that. They’re narrowing that down, but it is mostly General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, BMW, Mercedes, Honda, Toyota, and Nissan right now. Still getting info,” Hathaway said.

  “Roger, thanks.” Oxendine shut off the phone.

  “Hey, Bev, you up on the net? Who makes the engines for most of the refueling trucks for aircraft?”

  “General Motors, mostly, but there’s lots of independent companies like Westmor and Garsite. Just depends, but most of them contract out the big stuff like engines,” Setz said.

  “All these stopped vehicles? STRATCOM thinks it was a bug put in the service center network. The Internet of Things. Laid dormant for like a year and then boom, they all activate this morning at nine a.m.,” Oxendine said.

  “Meaning my refuel truck might not be here anytime soon?” Setz asked.

  “I think that’s why we’re seeing all these aircraft trying to figure out what to do. I’ve been to this airport a lot and never seen it this busy.”

  “Come to think of it, me neither. I need aviation gas. Can’t be from a pump at the gas station. Especially if we’re headed up into the mountains. So maybe take your SWAT guys there and see what you can find.”

  Oxendine was thinking the same thing. Without replying to Setz, he said to his SWAT commander, “Q, you know the deal. Let’s see if we can find a fuel truck and get it here.”

  The SWAT team dismounted with Oxendine and moved in formation toward the small terminal building. On the south side were two fuel trucks in a garage with their hoods up. Small airplanes were parked in front of the garage, and there was no way to have the helicopter land closer to the fuel trucks. Oxendine looked around inside the garage and saw two small airplane tow tugs.

  “Grab those and drag them over to the first fuel truck. Tow it like an airplane,” Oxendine said. He walked along the concrete apron, noticing the chaos inside the terminal. Men and women were shouting at one another, and the overwhelmed airport manager was getting it from all sides. Once the SWAT team had the tow tug jacked beneath the fuel truck, Oxendine chipped in and helped pull the rig filled with 2,500 gallons of gas weighing about 15,000 pounds. It was heavy and took considerable effort to move, but after ten minutes they had traversed the parking ramp and moved to the helicopter.

  One of the SWAT members had been a truck driver in the Army and had experience with operating Army refuel trucks. This was similar, and he was able to refuel the UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter that was their transport.

  After climbing back in, Oxendine sat down in his command seat, put his headset on, pushed the button, and said to Setz, not in his most politically correct way, “Now fly this bitch and don’t stop until I say so.”

  Setz turned her head and locked eyes with him. Oxendine gave her his linebacker stare as if Setz were a quarterback who was going down hard on the next play.

  “Roger that
,” Setz said.

  Oxendine felt the aircraft power up and lift into the sky toward the rest stop just north of their position by ten miles.

  CHAPTER 13

  MAHEGAN STUDIED JASPER’S MECHANIC’S LOGS, NOTICING THE monthly inspections of vehicles. Cassie stood to his side, then began walking the length of the garage and back. She was pacing, arms folded. Impatient.

  “Keep that weasel out of here,” Jasper said. He pointed at Ronnie. Mahegan figured they’d had a falling out of some sort, but that wasn’t his concern now. He nodded at Ronnie, indicating for him to stay outside.

  “Shit ain’t right,” Ronnie said.

  Jasper began talking as Mahegan thumbed the logs.

  “Started out with me just doing a state inspection. I’m kind of a shade tree operation here and was a little surprised that someone just dropped in like that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do better than Ronnie and his little one-bay operation, but mostly it’s repeat clients that I’ve developed and known for years. They’re steady and loyal, and they help me keep food on the table.”

  “You notice anything different about these cars and people?” Mahegan asked. They were standing in a single bay of a two-bay garage. Outside, the parking lot was gravel and in need of a new load. Two giant oaks cast a dark shadow across much of the garage, dissipating the heat. To Mahegan the garage looked exactly like that, a home garage that Jasper had added on to with decent construction of another bay. He had a hydraulic lift and an assortment of tools and tool bins scattered around the rim of the cement garage floor.

  “First thing I noticed is the man looked different than most of us up here in the mountains, but Asheville gets all sorts of different folks with all the art and bullshit they’ve got going on there. So I didn’t think much of it. Second thing I noticed was the trucks they were bringing in. These were pretty new L200 Mitsubishi Barbarian pickup trucks. They specifically asked me to unplug the computer and to not use any kind of computer device, not that I have one. Saving up for that, but ain’t got the diagnostic machine just yet. They wanted an old-school mechanic, and they got one. Last thing I noticed was that Ameri is going to be the next Mrs. Jasper Jernigan if I have anything to do with it.”

  “I wouldn’t put too much stock in that last observation,” Mahegan said. “Your future wife may have something to do with all these cars stopping.”

  “My two ex-wives might also. Maybe they’re teaming up,” Jasper quipped.

  “You get an address on any of these vehicles?”

  “Well, to do a state inspection there has to be a home of record. So I’ve got those. They always paid cash, which I appreciated.”

  “Can we take a look at the address they listed?” Mahegan asked. He wasn’t hopeful, but it was a rock they had to turn over.

  Jasper snatched one pink carbon copy and read aloud. “John Smith. PO Box 1720, Asheville, North Carolina.” He looked up. “That ain’t much help is it?”

  Mahegan shook his head. “No. And they’re all bogus, I’m sure.”

  “Hey, man. Don’t get me in any trouble here.”

  “You’re not in any trouble. Just need to find these people.”

  He watched Jasper scratch his chin, thinking. Then he turned toward Cassie, who was staring at something in the corner.

  “You ever tear down any of these cars? Put them back together?” she asked.

  “A couple. All the suspensions were bad. Two needed new shocks.”

  Cassie looked at Mahegan. “That might be all we get,” she said.

  Mahegan paused, looked at Jasper.

  “What did you do with the computer components you removed from these vehicles?”

  A slow smile spread across Jasper’s face.

  “Damn. That’s why you was Delta and I was a mechanic.”

  “It all counts,” Mahegan said. “Can’t fight with broken stuff.”

  Jasper disappeared for a few minutes and came back with two items that looked like thumb drives.

  “They had a 2014 BMW X5, and I tore the computer system out of that. Here’s that,” Jasper said as he handed him one of the flash drives. “And here are the modules for all those Mitsubishi trucks.”

  “You got something I can use to look at the data?”

  “Hell no. Those machines cost about a million dollars. Told you, I do basic shit here.”

  “Let me ask you. Did a red flag go up when these people started asking you to pull out their computers?”

  “At first, yes. But it went down really quick when they started paying two thousand dollars cash every time they came in. That’s a lot of coin.”

  Mahegan nodded. There was no way Jasper could know the future. For all he knew, it was a cheating spouse trying to get rid of GPS data. But the GPS data were what Mahegan wanted.

  “Closest place I can look at this stuff?”

  Jasper scratched his face about the time Ronnie stuck his head in and said, “I don’t want to get involved in nothing, but I saw that shit going down today. You ain’t getting nowhere with anybody unless you got a real mechanic with you. I got a friend who has a machine. He’s probably up to his ass in alligators right now, if he’s at his place at all, but it’s worth a shot.”

  Jasper looked at Ronnie and said, “Sometimes my brother is a real asshole, but sometimes he can be useful. I’d listen to him on this one.”

  “Ronnie’s your brother?”

  “Yeah, not getting into it, but we both joined the Army, became mechanics, and then got all fucked up by the wars. What he’s saying? It’s worth a shot.”

  “You miss every shot you don’t take,” Cassie said.

  “Damn, I like that, woman. Gonna use it in the future, if that’s all right,” Ronnie said, stepping into the garage.

  “I’ll drive,” Cassie said, walking to her car.

  “And I’ll stay here, if it’s just the same. All that crazy shit going on out there. Don’t want nothing to do with it,” Jasper said.

  “We’ll bring Ronnie back here,” Mahegan said.

  “Please don’t,” Jasper said.

  They piled into Cassie’s car and followed a series of turn commands from Ronnie until they were dodging cars and people along a main strip.

  “Here. Turn along this alley and come in the back way. Sam’s office is in the back.”

  They found Sam sitting in his office staring at his phone. Without looking up, he said. “I can’t help you.”

  “Sam, it’s me. Ronnie.”

  Mahegan watched Sam slowly turn his head. He had gray hair that was tossed, possibly from running his hands through it. His black T-shirt was stained with salt lines around the armpits and stomach area, where his ample gut protruded. The office smelled of greasy fast food and cigarettes.

  “Ronnie, the owner of every car I’ve worked on in the past year is calling me, telling me I fucked up. They’re stopped on the road between here and California. My insurance is going to drop me, I’m sure.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Sam. I’ve got a couple of people here who might be able to help.”

  “Help? I’m a damn General Motors franchise service shop and I’ve done close to a thousand cars in the last year. State inspections make it close to two thousand. Every one of them, far as I can tell, has stopped on the road like I purposely did something to them. How the fuck can someone help me?”

  “There’s a lot more going on, Sam. This here’s a terrorist attack. I’ve got two people that need to read some car chips and see the GPS data.”

  Sam eyed them warily, then pushed up from his gray metal desk and squeaky chair. They followed Sam into his garage, a six-bay operation with everything in place. Lifts, toolboxes, and tires were all neatly aligned and where they should be, in stark contrast to Jasper’s garage. Sam walked them to a laptop computer sitting atop a red toolbox.

  “Let me see it,” Sam said.

  “Where’s all your people?” Ronnie asked.

  “What the hell you talking about? They’re like everyone else. T
heir shit shut down at nine a.m. sharp. They’re standing on the road somewhere. Not everyone has a mullet and drives a Chevy Nova as if they never grew up from the eighties,” Sam said.

  “Let’s focus, guys. This is important.” Sam looked up at Mahegan, who towered over the man. He nodded and grasped the flash drive. He powered up the laptop, slid the drive into the USB port, and let the computer work for a minute or two.

  “Okay, here’s the GPS,” Sam said. “Looks like they drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway a lot. Spent some time in Greenville, South Carolina. And made a trip to the beach.” He kept scrolling through the data but came back to the Blue Ridge Parkway. “There’s a spot here where they pick up and drive into Asheville. I know this area like the back of my hand. That right there is Walmart and the strip mall.”

  Sam pointed at the screen. Mahegan nodded and said, “Okay, what about the other chip?” He was thinking, though, that this was something. The origin in the Blue Ridge Parkway was near one of his three guesses for the terrorist camp.

  Sam unplugged the one drive and inserted the other. He went through the same machinations and said, “Same thing. Almost identical. Instead of Greenville, it’s Spartanburg, South Carolina. Practically the same thing. Lots of movement along the Blue Ridge Parkway. They get on it here, the satellite picks them up and starts tracking them to Walmart. Both have suspiciously been to Ronnie’s brother’s auto shop. I’d arrest his ass right now.”

  Sam’s moment of levity led to Cassie’s deadpan: “Yeah, I think that’s a good move.”

  Ronnie, completely missing the sarcasm, said, “No way, bro. I brought you here!”

  “Chill, Ronnie. She was only joking,” Mahegan said. “You’ve been very helpful. We’ve got some good intel here.” Then to Sam, “Can you give me a grid coordinate or a lat-long on the location they enter the Blue Ridge Parkway?”

  “Am I going to get a medal from the president or something?”

  “Look at it this way. You’ll avoid getting your ass kicked all over this garage. That’s better than any medal you’d ever receive,” Mahegan said.