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contents.
"It ain't cocaine," he said, leaning down. Then he flew back, his eyes wide
and started gagging.
The officer fell to the floor of the truck, gasping and convulsing.
"JOSE!" he managed to gag. "What. . ."
Jose grabbed the officer and dragged him to the ground, over into the verge,
then pulled his shoulder mounted mike around.
"This is Unit 27," he shouted. "We have a hazardous materials incident at mile
marker one seventy eight, turnpike! I need HazMat and an ambulance. Now!
Officer down!"
* * *
"So they're inside," the president said, frowning.
"Yes, sir," the Secretary of Homeland Security confirmed. "So far, Wal-Mart is
agreeing to the cover story. Hazardous materials somehow were loaded on one of
their trucks. The turnpike was shut down for about two hours but it's open
again."
"We got those, but we don't know how many others have made it in," the FBI
director said. "Florida has reopened all their weigh stations in south
Florida. The cover story is an outbreak of Mediterranean Fruit
Fly. All trucks are being searched. Even moving vans are being searched."
"But they got inside," the president said, angrily. "What are we paying all
this money for if they can just slip through?"
"We don't know their methods, sir," the CBP director said, nervously. "If they
brought in a container, they're apparently breaking it down somewhere in south
Florida. We'll find it."
"And if they didn't?" the president asked.
"That is the top theory at the moment, Mister President," the DNI said. "We're
relatively certain they brought in the full container. Find that and we find
the motherload."
"I don't care if they brought it in by balloon," the president suddenly
shouted. "FIND IT!"
* * *
"Yes, sir," Greznya said, handing over the headpiece. "The president."
"Hello, sir," Mike said, looking at the document on his lap. The track had
come from north of Grand
Island. That meant that there should be a refuel ship up there. But, if so, it
was probably sitting outside the two hundred mile "economic zone" of the US.
Very long damned run. On the other hand, the Ronald
Reagan CVBG was up in that area. They should have seen something by now.
"Where are you?" the president asked. "I called the primary number and they
transferred me."
"On the way to the hospital to see my two wounded men," Mike replied. "Don't
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worry, it's not interfering with the mission."
"That's open for debate," the president said. "Two barrels of VX were
intercepted in central Florida.
The officer who found them only got a whiff of one of the binaries but he's in
the hospital. Tell me you have some good news."
"I can't," Mike said. "What I have so far are hunches."
"Your hunches have been pretty good in the past."
"Okay, sir," Mike said, closing his eyes. "I have a hunch that the boats are
picking up their cargo from a container that's floating somewhere north of
Bahamas Grand Island. Probably underwater. That they then run down the coast
of the Keys and drop it off. Another boat, probably two Scarab fast-fishers
that we've lost track of, pick the stuff up. How were they moving it?"
"In the back of a Wal-Mart truck," the president said. "Apparently it was
loaded into it while the driver was eating. But we're checking all the trucks
now. They won't be able to do that again."
"You can move one of these in a big trunk," Mike pointed out. "Two or three in
an SUV. You can't stop every vehicle."
"I'd already thought of that," the president admitted. "And I'm getting tired
of everyone telling me the situation is 'under control.' Thanks for not doing
so."
"Under control is an overstatement if I've ever heard one," Mike said.
"Where'd they stop it?"
"On the turnpike, just south of Orlando."
"Interesting," Mike replied. "But not getting us anywhere at the moment. I've
got an op planned that may turn up something soon. But I'm going to need some
political muscle."
"What do you need?"
* * *
"PO Johnson?" the CIC officer said, walking over to the radar tech with a
message form in his hand.
"Yes, sir?"
"Your Lloyds Looper has generated some high level interest," the officer said.
"We're going to be putting a Viking up. When the Viking has to return they're
putting up a P-3. The take from both is going to go to your screen and your
screen only. You will then send the take to this address," the officer said,
handing over the form. "You will not discuss any take from it with anyone
else. Vanders will be briefed in on it but only Vanders. You may receive
classified requests for retasking which you will then pass on with the minimum
possible discussion. The classification on all data is Ultra Purple under code
name Thunder
Child. No one onboard this ship, with the sole exception of you and Vanders,
is cleared for data regarding Thunder Child. Are those orders clear?"
"Yes, sir," the tech said, her eyes wide.
"For anyone listening in," the officer said, raising his voice slightly,
"there had better not be any questions about this. Not here, not in the mess,
not in the bunks. Forget you ever heard it. Chief, lock this down."
"Yes, sir," the section NCOIC said. "It is locked." The crew might ignore such
an order from the OIC, but they weren't about to cross the chief.
"Sir, can I ask one question?" the tech asked. "The codeword I get. But what
is Ultra Purple? I don't recognize the security classification."
"The group with access is restricted," the officer said. "So even I don't
know. But Ultra class refers to working groups with CJCS and higher clearance.
However, CJCS is only at Ultra White. Purple is higher."
"Yes, sir," the PO said, turning back to her screen. On it a contact, labeled
as a friendly Viking, was just taking off. Somebody wanted to see what the
ship was doing and not only did they not want the ship to know about it, they
didn't even want the captain to know about it. Hell, they didn't want the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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