Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (24 page)

“Quit blaming yourself,” Alex replied. “There’s enough blame to go around.”

Sam dropped into a chair. “All to bring that fat-ass, cigarette-smoking, son-of-a-bitch back with us.”

O’Brien smiled. “Tell us how you really feel about the professor, Sam.”

Sam walked over and opened the blinds. Dust fell off the edges. “We let Oliver get ahead of us on this one. That can’t happen again.”

The smile disappeared from O’Brien’s face.

“She’s safe now,” Alex replied, “but you’re right. We can’t let that happen again.”

Sam paced around the table. “I’ve been debating how we organize ourselves. I need another FBI contact. Oliver could get suspicious if his men see me around you, particularly since some of them have met Jackie.”

“I don’t think so.” Alex wiggled her eyebrows. “We’ll bill it as an affair. Your buddies in the militia will understand that.”

Sam didn’t answer.

“It’s the perfect cover,” Alex continued.

Sam looked down and put his hands on the table, making little tents with his fingers. “I don’t know.”

Alex hit Sam on the shoulder. “You bastard.”

“Goddamn! What was that for?”

“You weenie. You don’t think I’m tough enough, do you?”

O’Brien masked a smile, seeming to enjoy Sam’s discomfort.

“It’s not that, Alex. It’s just that things are gonna get rough before this is over.”

“Yeah, you need a fucking man. A broad can’t cut it.”

“You’re not very big, Alex. Some of these guys are huge.”

Alex stalked around the room, then stopped in front of Sam. “Try and get rid of me.” She punched his chest with her finger. “I don’t know if you’re tough enough or, more importantly, cool enough to pull this off. What happened to Jackie really pissed me off. I’ll find the clown who tried to hurt her … punch his lights out, with or without your help.”

“I think we understand one another. Save your anger for the militia,” Sam said. He thought to himself,
Hum, she’s got teeth.

Alex plopped down in one of the chairs at the table and started swinging the chair back and forth. “Now see if you can figure a way to get me on the inside. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

“That’s gonna be critical,” O’Brien said.

Alex reached inside her briefcase and pulled out a tape recorder. “I want you to go over everything again. We may have missed something important. Bob and Agents Stoner and Monar haven’t heard the entire story.”

“Oh jeez, is that really necessary?” “Just do it, Sam.” She turned on the recorder.

Sam paused for a moment to organize his thoughts, then summarized his efforts over the past week to train the members of General Oliver’s militia. He reviewed what he’d told Alex about Popeye and his Nazi background as well as Popeye’s role with the Pennsylvania Skinheads.

“Do you have any idea what General Oliver plans to do with Kaminsky?” O’Brien asked.

“Not yet. He has a PhD in chemistry. They must want him for technical advice.” He smiled. “Sure as hell isn’t for his physical prowess.”

Alex cut off the recorder. “What’s next?”

“I resume training Oliver’s men tonight. We’ll start by going over explosives. They’re picking things up fast.”

“What can I do?” Alex asked.

“Just hang loose until I figure a way to get you into the operation.” Sam began to pace again. “In spite of the incident with Jackie, I don’t think they’re on to me.”

Alex pulled out a folder and spread some papers on the table. “It’s time we talked about potential threats. We’ve analyzed the risks … listed the five top options that could bring us to our knees.”

The theme from
“Star Wars”
floated out of his jacket pocket. Sam grabbed his cell phone. He looked at the number. “Jackie’s home phone.”

He pushed the button. “Thorpe.”

“Sam Thorpe?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to my daughter?” a man’s voice said. “I can’t get a hold of her. General Gerber said she’s been moved and put under FBI protection. I don’t even know where she is. What are you doing to her?”

Sam covered the mouthpiece for a moment. “I have to take this.” He pushed the door open, walked out into the main hallway, and pulled the door shut behind him.

“Look, Senator, I can’t talk about this operation now. We felt that Jackie could be in danger, so we took precautions to protect her.” Sam walked down to the end of the hall and looked through the sheer curtains into the street below. A black Mercedes pulled into the lot.

The senator’s voice echoed in Sam’s ear. “Every time she gets involved with you, she gets hurt.”

“That’s not true.”

“Dammit, it is too.”

The conversation was going nowhere.

“I demand to know what happened.”

“I’m sorry, Senator, but that’s not possible.”

“Well, you’d better stay far away from her. I’ll use every bit of influence I have to stop you from seeing her. I’m a personal friend of the president’s. I don’t know what she sees in a vagabond like you.”

“Senator, your daughter is thirty-six years old. Don’t you think she can decide for herself who she sees and doesn’t see?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Thorpe. I can crush you, and I will. Now leave my daughter alone.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Senator, but I care for Jackie and will not leave her alone.”

“Then you’ll suffer the consequences. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll destroy you.”

A click, and the line went dead. Sam sank down onto a chair at the end of the hallway and put his face in his hands. The senator’s words hit home. Sam could have gotten Jackie killed.

The hand felt soft on his shoulder. Sam glanced up to see Alex leaning over him.

“Guess that conversation didn’t go very well.” She pulled on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go. The best thing you can do for Jackie is to get these bastards.”

Once Sam had taken a seat at the conference room table, O’Brien launched into his summary.

“One of the biggest risks we face is an attack on one of our chemical plants. There are some 15,000 plants across the country. They produce a wide range of petrochemicals, fertilizers, toxic gases, and pesticides.”

“Aren’t they using just-in-time-shipping?” Sam asked. “That should cut down on the amount of inventory stored at the plant.”

O’Brien nodded. “They still are a tempting target, though.”

Sam leaned forward at the table and made a note on his laptop. “Security?”

“Wish I could say it was good,” Alex replied. “EPA has been unable to demand increased security because of industry pressure on some of our weak-kneed politicians. We’ve had a number of media investigations that show inadequate security at the plants. More needs to be done.”

Sam leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “We’re in deep shit.”

“There’s more.” Alex turned a page in her notebook. “Our water distribution system has more than 170,000 public systems. That provides countless opportunities to contaminate drinking water with biological, chemical, or radiological agents.”

“Did you say 170,000? I had no idea.” Sam made a note. He doodled around Alex’s name, then crossed it out so no one else would see it.

“Interruption of the supply would hurt manufacturing, energy generation, and any number of water-intensive organizations.”

Sam nodded. “To say nothing about the poor bastard in Peoria trying to get a glass of water.”

“It gets worse,” Alex replied. “More than 1.7 million carloads of hazardous cargo are carried by rail each year.”

Bob O’Brien jumped in. “And most of that is either explosive or toxic.”

“He’s right.” Alex said. “On any given day, around 76,000 trucks transport hazardous materials on our highways. A couple of M16 assault rifles could put millions of people at risk by causing an explosion or a leak.”

Sam thought of his daughter. What kind of a world would she have to live in? “What about nuclear?”

O’Brien nodded. “There are a little over one hundred commercial nuclear reactors at about sixty power plants around the country. More than half are near cities like New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Chicago. Each of those plants represents a dirty bomb that could inflict untold havoc.”

“Security?” Sam asked.

O’Brien sighed and shook his head. “Security guards lack training, weapons, and adequate numbers to repel a terrorist attack.”

Sam did another drumroll with his pencil on the table while he contemplated these risks. “We need to establish a priority. What are the most likely risks?”

O’Brien pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here’s what we have. On the nuclear side, Three Mile Island is located just south of Harrisburg. That has to be a tempting target. Remember what happened in ‘79.”

The TMI disaster had occurred only eighteen months before Sam entered the service. One of his best friends lived next to the plant.

“I’ve compiled a list of chemical plants in the eastern part of the state for you,” O’Brien continued. “And I hate to even think of the hazardous material scenario.”

Sam glanced over at Alex. “Aren’t there a number of hospitals and university research facilities in the area that utilize nuclear material?”

Alex grimaced. “It’s extensive.”

“This gives me something to go on.” Sam took the disk with the list on it. He could wipe it clean if Oliver seemed suspicious. “I know likely targets. Now I need to find out where Oliver’s planning to strike and get that word to you.”

Alex pointed her index finger at him and pretended to fire. “Give that man a cigar.”

O’Brien turned another page in his notebook. “Let’s talk about Manpads.”

Alex smiled. “Sounds obscene.”

Sam’s mind reached back to the tiny drawer in his mental computer reserved for shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles. He knew that about 4000 missiles from the Iraqi arsenals were still unaccounted for after the Gulf War. These were doubly dangerous because they could be carried in a suitcase and used to shoot down commercial airlines, military passenger planes, or helicopters.

“I wish that’s all they were.” O’Brien looked down at his notebook. “During the Soviet era, large numbers of the missiles were distributed around the world. And to make matters worse, equal numbers of the American version, the Stinger, were delivered to the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan during their war with the Soviets in the ‘80s. We’re not sure where they are now or even how many are outstanding.”

Sam rubbed his fingers over the surface of the oak conference table. “Can you imagine what the militia members could do with shoulder-fired missiles once they’re properly trained?”

“Our analysts think there may be a storehouse of these missiles somewhere near here. Could it be on Oliver’s farm?”

“He’s got a couple of storage areas locked tight. I’ll have to get inside to see what’s there.”

O’Brien made a note. “Hopefully you’ll be able to find out for us.”

Sam nodded. The pressure inside his head started to build again. “Oliver has a private office protected with a fingerprint scanner.”

“Probably an Identix Scanner.” O’Brien shuffled some papers. “We’ve got to get you in there.”

“How do you propose I do that?” Sam asked.

“Get Oliver’s print on a piece of tape,” O’Brien continued. “We’ll use that to slip you past the scanner.”

“A guard comes by on a regular basis.” “It’s worth trying,” O’Brien replied. “The stakes are too high.”

“I don’t like the idea,” Sam said, “but I think you’re right.”

O’Brien nodded toward Alex. “We’ve fixed up an identification package for Alex. Same name, but she’s a college dropout looking for a good time. She’s currently a waitress in Harrisburg. Came back home to care for her sick momma.”

“Christ, can you imagine that?” Alex laughed.

O’Brien continued. “Her cover story is that she grew up in Minneapolis, attended the University of Minnesota, then moved to San Francisco. Never met you, but remembered watching you play football before she flunked out of college.”

“My hero.”

“Nice.” O’Brien looked back down at his notebook. “She arrived in Harrisburg to spend time with her dying mother, a devout Mennonite. Alex rebelled against the church. You two happen to run into one another.”

“Can you imagine me in the Mennonite Church, maybe singing in the choir?”

In spite of himself, Sam had to chuckle. “Probably out of tune.”

Alex slugged his shoulder.

Sam stood. “Better get my rear in gear. Oliver’s gonna get suspicious if I’m not back soon.”

“Let me give you another number, Sam.” Alex pulled a number out of her pocket and read it to him. “Memorize it. When you have a contact point, call.”

Sam took the sheet and committed the number to memory. He opened the door and smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you all again.”

O’Brien called to Sam. “See if you can get Oliver’s thumbprint on a glass. That way we’ll have it if we need it.”

S
am sat at his desk making notes for the evening class.

A knock on the door interrupted him. “Come in.”

Quentin Oliver stepped into the office. Sam felt a mental lurch. This was the first time Oliver had come to Sam’s office.