Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (28 page)

“You need to update General Gerber. I’d like to talk to Bob.”

“How about a meeting tomorrow at the Colonial Commons Borders? It’s east of Harrisburg on old Route 22. The Barnes & Noble is getting too crowded.”

“Agreed. How about eleven o’clock?”

“It’s a date.”

Sam bought her another beer and pushed a paper sack toward her. Inside were General Oliver’s fingerprints on the glass he’d drunk from in Sam’s office. “See what you can do with that.”

She slipped it into her bag. “I’ll have a tape for you tomorrow.”

Sam nodded. That meant he’d break into Oliver’s office tomorrow night. Tonight he’d need to double check the schedule of the guard.

The door banged open and a tall man in a long black coat walked in. He removed his black wide-brimmed hat and shook snow from it. A well-rounded, blond-haired woman in a green ski jacket followed him. She looked as if she had skied one too many slopes.

The man spotted Sam and waved. “Bless you, my son.”

“Thanks, Reverend.”

Alex looked at Sam. “Reverend?”

“Yep.”

“He doesn’t look any more like a reverend than I do.”

“His one disciple is the woman behind him.”

Alex’s jaw dropped open. Sam didn’t think he’d ever seen her quite so surprised.

“Jasper told me he’s the bar’s answer to religion. Later on in the evening you’ll see them disappear into the back room. Apparently there’s a cot set up for the use of special members of the bar in need. You can hear both of them yelling, “Thank you, Jesus. Praise the Lord.’“

Her face broke into a grin. “Guess I’ve heard it all now.”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to laugh at anything now.

Alex stood. “Come on. Let’s dance a little two-step. We need to act normal.”

Sam walked over to the jukebox and dropped in a couple of quarters.

Willy Nelson’s voice again filled the bar. Sam offered his hand, and she slipped into his arms.

They danced around the room as Willy kept the beat moving. Sam had to admit that holding Alex felt good. He liked the way she moved against him.

She leaned up and whispered into Sam’s ear, “Put your hand on my rear. Give the guys a show.”

Her breath felt soft on Sam’s cheek. He wasn’t sure about this but figured, what the hell? Might as well enjoy his assignment.

Alex’s rear felt soft and moved under his hand as they swayed around the room.

Alex stifled a snicker. “My, my, you must like that.” She rubbed herself against him.

He pulled back his hand and put it on her shoulder. “Goddamn, Alex, this isn’t a good idea.”

“You may say that,” she whispered, “but your body is calling you a liar.”

“Don’t you think I know what my body is saying?” He found himself sweating again.

Alex reached up and whispered, “I’ll have to admit I find you intriguing.”

Fortunately Willy took a break and Sam pulled back. He walked her back to the table.

“Better go.” She buttoned up her coat. “Like my Harley jacket?”

“Cool dude.”

She said in a louder voice, “Gotta go take care of Momma. Thanks for the beer.”

She plopped her wool hat over her spiked locks and walked out. The eyes of the locals all swung in her direction as if they were watching a one-sided tennis match.

Sam walked back up to the bar and ordered another Bud.

“Hell of a piece of ass.” Jasper smiled, showing his nicotine-stained teeth.

“Really?” Sam smiled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

S
am strolled into the Borders at Colonial Commons a little before eleven o’clock. He had driven around the state capitol, across Memorial Bridge, then up to Reservoir Park, surprisingly quiet for a Saturday morning. He sat in the Civil War Museum parking lot for twenty minutes before driving back around the capitol and out Highway 22 to the bookstore.

He’d seen nothing suspicious and felt certain no one had followed him. To be sure, he sat in his Explorer for a few minutes and surveyed the lot. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Entering the bookstore, he turned left toward the shelves and paged through periodicals, selecting four gun magazines. He walked over to the coffee shop, placed the magazines on one of the round tables, then wandered over to the cashier.

A young woman, with fresh, peach-colored skin, red hair, and a nametag that said Amy asked, “May I get you something?”

She reminded him of Emily. Same height, same blue eyes, though Emily had blond hair. He wondered how his daughter was doing.

“Sir?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Sam stepped to the right and looked in the pastry cabinet. “How about one of those sticky buns with all the frosting and a cup of your house blend?”

“Excellent choice, sir. I love the sticky buns myself. Don’t eat them much though … they’ll put the weight on you.”

“You could have gone all day without reminding me.”

She got a sheepish look on her face. “Sorry. Want me to nuke it for you? Makes it taste even better.”

“Damn straight.”

“Sir?”

“Uh, oh, yes.”

“I thought that’s what you meant.” She popped the sticky bun in the microwave and drew a cup of coffee out of the silver containers behind her.

“That sticky bun looks good.”

Sam knew the female voice before he turned around. Alex stood behind him with Bob O’Brien next to her.

“Amy swears by the sticky buns. Have to heat ‘em to get the full effect.” Sam paid, then picked up his coffee and bun. He weaved his way between the round tables to the window where he had left his magazines.

Alex set her coffee down on the table behind Sam. She took a minute to pick up a copy of
Sea Kayaking
from the magazine rack. On the way back, she looked at the sticky bun. “Nope, don’t think so.”

“A guy only lives once.” Sam paged through the magazine
“Guns and Ammo.”

“Are you a member of the National Muzzle Loaders Organization?”

Sam glanced over at O’Brien. “Should I be?”

“It’s a great organization.” He held up a magazine titled
“Muzzleloaders.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam sipped his coffee.

They talked about muzzleloaders for a few minutes, Alex doing her best to look bored.

A young mother seated near the counter lured her small child to be quiet with a bite of chocolate chip cookie. An older man wearing a denim jacket sat four tables away sipping tea and reading the
Washington Post.

Every few minutes the espresso machine started up, causing a whirring noise that made it almost impossible to hear each other.

Sam invited the two of them to join him at a table. After some more small talk, he summarized his notes from the meeting. “It won’t take long before the men will be ready to go. The target looks pretty simple. Oliver didn’t say how well guarded it would be.”

He handed a drawing of the mockup to Alex. “It looks like this. I assume we’ll travel by convoy, so it can’t be more than an hour or so away.”

O’Brien looked away for a moment. “So they’re going after material to make a dirty bomb. I think it’s time to bring in the security folks from Three Mile Island. That same outfit provides security to a number of nuclear sites around the state.”

“How can you do that without tipping our hand?” Sam asked.

“We’ll just use the old ‘we’ve got intelligence that says nuclear facilities may be under threat of attack. No specifics.’ And we’ll make the warning broad enough so they know we’re not only targeting Pennsylvania.”

“Guess that’ll work.” Sam remained uneasy.

“I’d like you to attend the briefing for these guys,” O’Brien said. “We’ll keep you in the back … no one will see you.”

Sam shook his head. “Too risky.”

“Okay.” O’Brien nodded. “Why don’t you meet Alex at the old saloon Wednesday night? She’ll update you on the meeting.”

“Works for me.” Sam looked around again and lowered his voice. “We need to request that General Gerber fall out the nuclear emergency guys.”

“Good point,” O’Brien replied. “I’ll meet with him right away.”

“What can they do?” Alex asked.

Sam nodded at O’Brien. “Why don’t you summarize?”

“Sure. The Department of Energy created the Nuclear Emergency Search Team in 1975 after some problem up in Boston. They’re called the NEST.”

Alex nodded. “What’s their role?”

“The president agreed there had to be a specialized force to investigate nuclear threats, and it had to be done in a covert manner to prevent unnecessary public disclosure. The nuclear issue was already sensitive enough. He didn’t want to add to the concerns.”

Alex took out her notebook. “Who’s on it?”

“Better not write anything down,” O’Brien said. “The group consists of scientists from various government labs who can be formed in a hurry for incidents like we’re facing. They wear civilian clothes. Any information on their involvement is always closely guarded.”

“Got to hand it to those guys,” Sam said. “They head out on short notice to search for nuclear devices and, if necessary, disarm them. I’m glad they’re on our side.”

O’Brien reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here’s the tape with Oliver’s fingerprint. Stretch it over the glass on the fingerprint scanner. It should open the door right away.”

Sam managed a weak smile. “Keep your fingers crossed for me.”

O’Brien patted his shoulder. “Be careful.”

Alex and O’Brien went back to their table and picked up their magazines. Sam took a last bite of the sticky bun. Really gooey, just the way he liked it.

When they got up to leave, Alex stopped at his table. She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I’m sorry about last night. I let my hormones and a couple of beers get ahead of my brain. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” She turned and followed O’Brien out of the coffee shop.

Sam watched her leave, enjoying the way she walked. Alex had felt comfortable against him. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea that it wouldn’t happen again.

Wiping the table with a napkin, he got up and walked over to Amy. “You were right. That sticky bun was out-damn-standing.”

“Told ya.”

He reached in his pocket and touched the envelope with the tape in it to make sure it was still there.

For the next three days, Sam worked with the men on fundamentals, reviewing communications procedures, practicing cover and concealment.

He formed them into three teams to practice securing the mockup target. One team would enter the facility, one would secure the perimeter, and one would be held in reserve in case of a problem.

Kamisky selected Horace and two other men, separating them from the rest of the group.

“What the hell is that all about?” Sam asked Kaminsky.

“The men going in with me require extra training.” He crossed his hands over his extensive belly and set his jaw. “The others don’t.”

“I don’t like it,” Sam replied. “We should all know what the other guys are doing.”

“In this case you’re wrong.” Kaminsky turned and walked away.

Sam wondered whether he should take his concerns up with Oliver but decided to wait and see what developed. Besides, he had a bigger problem. He had to find the exact location of the site. That meant breaking into Oliver’s office.

His pass would get him past the scanner into Oliver’s outer office. With the tape, he should be able to get into that inner room, but it would have to be done early in the morning. Oliver slept in the farmhouse. He usually left his office around ten at night. Sam had kept checking the schedule of the guard. The guard came by twice a night, once at midnight and once around 3:30 in the morning.

Marshall continued to be the bright spot in Sam’s day. The young man learned fast and, more importantly, gained confidence in his own abilities. He looked to Sam for approval. Sam had to be careful when he worked separately with Marshall because Buster and his buddies still picked on the kid. It pleased Sam to see Marshall stand up for himself and become accepted by more of the men.

Sam was worn out by Wednesday night, but he found himself looking forward to his meeting with Alex.

It seemed to Sam that when he walked into the bar, the same Willie Nelson song spun on the antiquated jukebox. The same men hunched over the bar on the same stools. The same smoke hung in the air, and the same musty odor permeated the room.