The Big Blue Sky: Fifty

Moon watched the Suburbans pull away, turning east back towards town. He waited until they disappeared behind the hill before climbing from the rocks and trees beside the beach. He jogged across the road to the motel where Molly waited, covering his crossing from the corner of the Inn. The rain had returned, whipped by sharp frigid gusts off the lake that howled, bending small trees back. Showers of wet autumn leaves joined the rain.

“I’m ready to turn the table on these guys,” Moon said, almost eagerly.

“Nothing good about these guys. Time we got some answers.” Molly opened her Agency jacket and checked the weapon holstered there. She wondered if all this would come to shooting, and hoped that it wouldn’t, but she wouldn’t retreat from that possibility either. Obviously, by the weapons found with the bodies on the island, these men were fully prepared for that eventuality.

“Looks like they were headed back to Munising. I’ll drive,” said Moon, jangling the keys in his pocket.

Molly held out her hand. “I’m pulling rank.”

He nodded and dropped him into her open palm. “Have to learn that I ain’t gonna be the knight come to rescue the fair maiden.”

“This fair maiden kicks ass when she has to,” said Molly, patting the pistol under her arm.

They climbed into the Jetta, giving each other a long encyclopedic look. Moon reached into the back seat for two bulky blue Kevlar vests and handed one over to Molly. She slipped her on over the thin Agency jacket she wore, noting as Moon set his on the floor at his feet. She said a silent prayer that they wouldn’t need the vests. Both knew the potential danger they were heading into. Neither had any illus ions about the men they were after.

The Jetta spit gravel as Molly pushed the gas pedal to the floor, turning east onto the dark two lane road. The agents had a determined look. Not in some sort of Rambo sort of way. Neitherof them had any intention of forcing a confrontation. Molly pulled the phone from her pocket and quickly dialed a number. The Operator at the State Police in Munising answered immediately.

“This is Agent Karaman with the Federal Bureau of Investigation…” Molly described the vehicles and the men, adding that they were likely armed. Her plan was simple enough. The State cops would stop the vehicles just outside town. That was the plan, at least. Molly and Moon were still nearly a half hour away, and a lot can happen in that little bit of time.

Molly wished that he had Doug’s number. She looked over at Moon, deciding.

“I have to tell you something,” she said.

“Let me guess,” he replied. “You spoke with Springer.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“You care about this guy?” he studied her, even as she didn’t answer right away. He was impressed by her. He was amazed at her thoughtfulness, and a certain sympathy Moon wondered wasn’t a better quality to her sex, because it struggled in him.

“Think its clouding my judgment?”

“Hope not,” he said simply, staring out into the night.

Molly looked over at the lake, painted in deep blue hues and breathed deeply. “Me too.”

The road left the lakeshore. It rose, allowing sweeping views of the coastline behind them. Ahead, in the distance, the textured expanse of Grand Island floated upon that midnight blue lake.

Molly was thinking about Doug. She smiled recalling that philosophical smirk that October Day at Ground Zero. Her thoughts tumbled invariably to Istanbul and how she wished to kiss him so desperately that night. Molly looked again at Moon, his attention fully on a web page on the tiny glowing white screen of his phone.

It was reasonable, she thought, that he might assume Molly’s feelings for Doug were a potential risk. If things were reversed about a suspect, Molly might feel the same way. That he didn’t spoke volumes about the trust he placed in her. For her part, Molly might have recused herself from the case once Doug became a suspect and fugitive in Fallahi’s murder. But she was more convinced than ever of his innocence, and knew that he was probably his last good hope.

“Anything interesting?” she asked. Molly fumbled with the phone in her lap.

“Just reading about this arms dealer, Shosa,” he said.”He’s moving heavily into this Nano-weapon technology market.”

“Nano-weapons?”

Machines, weapons that work on a molecular scale. They can be programmed to work independently, or with a trigger of some sort.”

“Like a cell phone ring tone?” she asked thoughtfully, her mind teetering on something.

“I suppose,” said Moon. “Anyway, real nightmare stuff. He’s been buying up congress people, buddy-ing up to the Pentagon and schmoozing the Administration.”

The image of Bernstein’s X-ray flashed in her mind, as if a light had suddenly come on, illuminating a terrible evil only now making itself apparent. She knew. She didn’t know everything, but Molly knew enough. Ay that instant the phone in her lap rang, startling her.

Molly held it up before her. She didn’t recognize the number. It was a local number, and she knew in an instant who it was, as if they were thinking the same thing at that very same moment. Molly pressed the receive button nd lifted the phone to her ear,

“Doug,” she began, almost breathless with nervousness. “Where are you? I need you to get to Munising as fast as you can. Go to the State Police…”

From the corner of her eye she saw the dark shape rushing towards her. It was huge and metallic, Molly’s mind struggling to make sense as it bore down upon the little Volkswagen Jetta. Moon saw it an instant later, but had no time to react before their world was abruptly and violently interrupted by the crushing of metal, of exploding glass, of shattering bone and screeching tires.

The Big Blue Sky: Forty-nine

After leaving Molly at the Clark Station Doug had slipped quickly down a narrow alley just off the highway, cutting his lights immediately, and coasting through the alley and out of sight without using his brakes. He watched the Suburban pass, and then headed inland, finding a deserted old logging roads through some of the deepest and darkest wilderness in the country. Bouncing and banging over deep ruts. Even with headlights they were often indiscernible from anything that could be even liberally considered a road. Deer crossed lazily in front the truck, at the limits of his headlights, eyeing the would-be interloper to their private domain curiously. In places the grass and weeds grew tall, only hinting at some sort of navigable lane through dense tunnels of overhanging trees whose branches and leaves scraped and slapped against the sides of the truck.

Such places might have evoked all sorts of dangers conjured by the conscious and sub-conscious mind. Doug might have felt lost or trapped here. He might have believed these dark woods were indeed inhabited by the spirits of ancient Ojibwa warriors and demons. But this is where he had grown up. The forests surrounded him protectively like a dear old friend. He could feel secure in the knowledge that no one could find him here, for there were uncountable trails such as this, running for thousands of miles through these forests. An army could disappear in the Hiawatha, or, in Doug’s case, it would take an army to find a single man.

These roads were completely disorienting, especially in the dark, even for Doug, who was accustomed to this place. When he came to Au Train Lake, just off the highway a brief bought of threatening panic at being lost subsided. Doug pulled across the highway into a tiny cemetery and pulled out the phone Carol and Geoff had given him. His heart breaking softly, Doug quickly dialed the ten digit number and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Sea Coast cottage,” a man’s voice answered quickly. “Geoff speaking.”

“Geoff, its Doug,” he said, afraid he might simply dissolve into tears at any moment. An owl cried lonely into the night from the tree above. “Are the girls all right?”

Geoff lowered his voice. Doug could hear the screen door open and close as Geoff went out onto the enclosed porch of the cottage.

“Doug,” he began, “don’t you worry now. Your girls are just fine. I’m cooking them up a couple of burgers. Carol ran out to Marquette and got them a few things; Pajamas, clothes, that sort of stuff.”

“Not sure I can ever…” Doug began. Geoff cut him off quickly.

“Nonsense,” he said, almost scolding. “You just clear all this up and come back to these girls safe and sound. Want to speak with them? I know they’re worried sick.”

Doug was quiet for a moment. He knew the technology, and knew these men had the capability of scanning a fair number of calls at once. Out here that didn’t leave a great many folks. As badly as he wanted to hear the girl’s voices, to tell them how much he loved them, and a thousand other things, but it was just too risky. Every second he spent on the phone exposed him and the girls to greater danger, and Doug just couldn’t risk that.

“Tell them I contacted you and that I’m okay, and will sort all this out soon.” The emotion caught in his chest. Doug paused, fighting through the moment. “And tell them…tell them I love them both more than life.”

“I will.” Said Geoff.

Doug switched off the phone and slid the battery from the back of the small plastic body. He slipped them into his pocket and shut his eyes for a moment. Sleep overtook him like a thief, as Doug, pushed well beyond simple exhaustion, was helpless to hold it back.

The Big Blue Sky: Forty-eight

Brower pulled up beside the others. The other Suburban was parked beside the road a mile or so east of the Sea Coast Inn. It had grown quite dark, and the worst of the rain had moved off, leaving a frigid drizzle that coated and glistened upon everything. McCullough was beside him, as reserved as ever about his private misgivings. Brower rolled down his window, which was speckled with rain drops, and glared silently at the other three men for a purposely long uncomfortable time.

He wasn’t happy, and if he failed to make that clear before, Brower intended to leave no doubt whatsoever now. Again, they had allowed Springer to slip through their fingers. All the high tech gear that could track and trace most anything on the planet, the ability to access and monitor cell phone calls and text messaging, wi-fi internet connections, access to BCI- the Federal Bureau of Criminal Identification, credit card and debit card transactions and databases, credit histories and real time satellite imagery, and still he managed to get by men who’d benefitted from the greatest military and intelligence training on the planet.

The dome light was off in the other Suburban, all but concealing the three men in shadow, and the ambient light of a deepening night. Brower could still see their stony faces. Even if he couldn’t have seen them he could feel their embarrassment and frustration, and not a small amount of trepidation at facing the full fury of their pissed-off boss.

“Really?” Brower shook his head in supreme disappointment. “I bet a pack of snot nosed cub scouts could find this guy quicker than you men.”

Brower could push, but he knew he could only push so far. None of them, not even Brower could pretend they weren’t part of a much larger conspiracy. No longer was the mission to train Iraqi cops, illiterate Afghan militias or protect Western oil workers and executives in Nigeria against rebels. The mission had moved into questionable territory, only made palpable for the legally tax-free cash each man was paid. Indeed, the nature of the mission was the only thing separating them from being an outright criminal enterprise. Maybe they could argue and convince themselves there was a higher, even patriotic purpose, but at the end of all rationalism were they shared crimes.

The mission now had changed and grown, something often called mission creep, which happened when facts on the ground necessitated changing the fundamental aspect of an operation. Brower’s training an experience eschewed so-called mission creep, and he took great pains in avoiding and minimizing it, but now he could feel it all getting away from him in the worst way. What had been a mission to shadow Fallahi to see who he contacted had grown at the last minute to an ad-hoc scheme to discredit and frame Doug Springer for Fallahi’s murder. He’d given the authorization to eliminate Springer after he’d escaped the first time. That he had made contact with an FBI agent who had let him walk away without notifying her superiors was perhaps most disturbing of all. What had he told her, and why was she keeping quiet about it?

Brower didn’t wait for, nor want an answer from the men in the other Suburban. He pulled a phone from his pocket and pressed the redial button. Despite the late hour it rang only once. The voice on the other end was familiar and low, as though not wanting to be heard.

“Please, tell me the mission is complete,” the voice said, with notable exasperation. He was Archer Waverly, the founder and director of FIRST THRUST INC, a stoic and resolute man, a deeply devout Christian man, who saw the company as far more than a military contracting business, but also a spiritual and political crusade.

“Need a little guidance on company policy,” said Brower. “Threat assessment criteria?”

Unchanged,” said Waverly.

“In a non-hostile environment?” His tone was purposely misleading.

“All environments are potentially hostile, Mister Brower. The deployment of your team and the mission presupposes a hostile environment. Are you unclear on the mission?”

“Clear, sir,” he replied. “Mission. Company. Team. God. Country.”

“That’s the order. Will this be concluded tonight? Things are ready to hit the fan in a big way, and this is one loose end that definitely needs cutting.”

“That loose end got a bit longer tonig…” said Brower.

“Are you a bunch of fucking new recruits?” Waverly erupted in anger, enough that the men in the next vehicle could hear as well. But for a furl of the brow, Brower made no reaction. “I want this concluded tonight. Mister Shosa will meet tomorrow with the president’s assistant National Security Advisor and several congressional leaders. Finish this, now! Before you left I authorized additional resources for you. This would be the time to use them.”

The line went dead abruptly. Brower looked off into the dark night and let it slip slowly to his lap. He looked over at McCullough and gave him a reassuring nod. They would deal with Springer, while the others handled the agents. He swallowed a yawn and looked over at the three men.

“Chicago authorized an additional five thousand dollar bonus for each man if this is concluded tonight.”

“By concluded?” asked the grizzled veteran, leaning uncomfortably across the driver, with an almost sexual sort of eagerness.

“McCullough and I will be on Springer. He can’t be far. By your report he’s dropped his girls somewhere close by. He’ll try to make contact with them or with the agent. The clock is ticking on all this, and Mister Springer understands that as well as we do. You men will be on the agents. All loose ends are to be cut, with no traces left behind. Clear?”

“Fuckin’ eh!” snarled the old veteran, pushing over the driver’s door and practically shoving the guy out the cab. “I’m pulling rank. I’ll drive.”