5 - Choker: Ike Schwartz Mystery 5 (27 page)

Chapter 53

The footsteps retreated to the other end of the decking. Ike rolled away from the edge. His fingers found the ridge of earth covering the tarp’s edge. He paused and listened. Silence. The tarp’s edge lifted easily. He slipped under it and rolled forward. Before he could stop himself, he slid down the rough earthen side of the excavation, sending a shower of damp soil and mud before him. He landed awkwardly in the pitch black. He waited, frozen in place, for a reaction, some sign that the guard above him might have heard something.

Ike had slipped the supersensitive dosimeter in the pocket of his jumpsuit. He checked to make sure it hadn’t been damaged in the slide. He’d also hung a variety of utilities on a web belt about his waist.

“You look like Batman,” Charlie had said. “Does that make me Robin?”

“No, you’re the Joker.”

He unclipped a penlight and risked a quick scan of the canvas above him. There did not appear to be a gap. The tarpaulin, he knew, was heavy and would not show any light on the other side if it remained in place. He pivoted to inspect the area. He needed to attend to the missiles. He’d worry about the guard overhead later. He swung the light across the interior of the pit they’d seen in the photographs.

The area was a roughly oval hole perhaps fifteen feet deep and thirty feet across. It had not been lined, but some two-by-fours braced against plywood sheets buttressed the wall in a few places. Clods of earth had fallen here and there and built small piles in several locations. A rude, handcrafted ladder leaned against the far wall. In the center were two steel launching ramps, and on them were two Sunburns.

Ike checked the edges of the canvas again. Reassured that no light escaped, he tried the radio.

His voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Charlie, can you hear me?”

The answer seemed staticy but clear. “We have you, Ike.”

“You need to tell me where that guard is at all times.”

“Roger that. He’s still at the far end of the deck. What have you got?”

“I’m in the pit. There are two Sunburns down here on launchers they must have assembled in place.” Ike slowly swung the light beam back and forth and searched the floor and the missiles.

“An umbilical runs from each of them and is gathered into a single cable that exits the pit toward the shed. I’m certain it’s the same one I tripped over when we inspected the property.”

“The guard’s coming back. Out.”

Ike released the talk key and continued his inspection of the pit and its contents. If he could do it somehow, his job was to disable the hardware in a way as to make it appear as though a failure to fire was accidental.

On the bay side of the pit, the terrorists had dug a two-foot-deep trench and fitted it with a commercial sump pump, complete with a float on a long metal arm that triggered the pump when it rose to a certain level—like a toilet tank only in reverse. Since the pit had been built below the water table, water seeped in from all sides, especially toward the bay, at a slow but regular rate. As he turned back to the pump, it turned on and pumped several gallons up through a white plastic pipe that exited the pit below the topmost edge. It must dump into the bay through the bulkhead.

“He’s gone again, Ike. What do you need?”

“In a while I will need a way to get out of here, but for now, have one of the SEALs sidle across the bulkhead to a position somewhere between…” he checked the roof again and made a quick calculation, “…ten to twelve feet from the end of the deck. When he’s there let me know.”

Ike waited for what seemed an eternity.

“Sorry to hold you up, but our friend came back. Connie had to sink to his eyebrows to stay hidden. Okay, he’s there.”

“I’ve found a pump here that keeps this place relatively dry. Tell him to feel for water spurting from the wall somewhere in the area.”

“Ike, I can hear you,” Connie said softly.

Ike had been holding the float arm down to let water fill the sump. He released it and the pump kicked on.

“Got it.”

“Is there a flutter valve on the end, that lets the pumped water out, but keeps the bay water from pouring in?”

“Hang on, I’ve got to move some stones…Whoa…Wait, got to hide.”

Ike swung the light across the floor. As he expected, there were three sensors placed near the Sunburns, also employing a float device, this time on slides. The floats rose and closed a circuit at the top of the shaft to set off an alarm if the water level rose within a foot of the Sunburn’s lower fins. If Ike were to only disable the pump and let the area flood, an alarm would send the men in the house there in seconds. First, he would have to cancel the sensors.

“I’m back, Ike. There is a valve. Not a very good one, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. If water back flows to the pump, it will hold there until the next pumping cycle.”

“Next question. Did you hear the pump when it ran?”

“No, but try it again.”

Ike forced the pump.

“No can hear.”

“Excellent. Jam that valve open, if you can. Then, while I fiddle around down here, why don’t the three of you figure a way to get me out?”

“Roger that.”

“I could help,” Bunky cut in.

“Stay off the air, Bunky.”

Ike pulled a roll of electrician’s tape from the assortment of items fastened to his belt and taped the floats on the sensors in place. Then he plastered several layers of tape across the electrical contacts at the top of the slides, to insulate them. That would guarantee that if the floats overcame their restraints, no contact could be made and, at the same time, prevent a short circuit that might also trigger the alarm.

“I have the valve jammed.”

“Is that outlet above or below the high water line?”

“Below, I can’t be sure but it might be below the low tide line as well.”

“Good, get back out of sight. Any idea how to draw off the guard?”

“Working on it.”

Ike pulled the commando knife from its sheath on his “Batman belt” and carefully punched holes in the sump pump’s float. Then he reversed the blade to its saw-toothed edge, and began to work on the plastic pipe that rose to an elbow and disappeared into the bay. He only wanted to create a leak that would augment the seepage from the ground water into the pit. After a few minutes he managed to produce a steady stream of water from the pipe.

To make sure the pump was completely disabled, he taped the float arm down as well. He made a quick survey of his handiwork, grabbed the ladder, and headed to the spot where he’d entered.

“Any luck up there? I’d rather not be in here when they discover their precious missiles are under fifteen feet of water.”

“We have a problem up here, Ike. Sit tight.”

Chapter 54

Ike repositioned the ladder, set the lower end firmly in the mud, and inspected the canvas above him.

“What’s happening?” No answer.

He turned and made one last check of the area. The two Sunburns, their noses angled toward the Chesapeake Bay, seemed perversely elegant. They posed a threat to the country that could only be reckoned as incalculable, yet they sat there on their angled launchers, sleek and dangerous, like twin asps, ready to strike. He unclipped the digital camera and fired off a dozen shots of the missiles, the pit, and the pump apparatus. The sump had already overflowed and water had begun to seep across the dirt floor toward the launchers.

“Ike, we’ve moved off the bulkhead and into the bushes on the adjoining property.”

“What happened?” Ike walked back to the Sunburns and busied himself with their aft fins.

“We were about to chance slipping the lever under the deck for you and just then the guard walked right at us. We thought the game was up. Then, there was this noise and he turned away. You know that tractor, the guys spotted in the barn? Well it’s on its way down here.”

“I’m coming up the ladder and will be at the edge of the deck in twenty seconds.”

“Roger. Okay, the guard has left the deck and is walking over to the tractor. They have lights on so, no night vision left for any of them. Ike, hurry, we’re putting in the lever now.”

Ike scampered up the ladder and rolled out from under the canvas. He felt the edge of the deck, crawled out, and away toward the water.

“What’ll I do with this lever?”

“Toss it in the bay. Let the tide take it away.”

“Someone signal Bunky.”

“Got it.”

The bulky shape of the river boat loomed up and beached with a crunch. The four men climbed aboard.

“Let’s go, Bunky. Chop, chop.”

“You-all gonna have to get back to the stern. We’re aground and you sittin’ up front just pushes us deeper in the mud.”

The men shifted sternward. Their combined weight lifted the bow free and Bunky eased the boat into the bay and turned for home.

The men sat silently, waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside and their breathing to return to normal. Finally Charlie broke the silence.

“What the devil were they doing with that tractor in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t know if you noticed or not, but there’s an eye bolt on the deck near where we were working. There will be another one at the other end. They are attaching cables to those bolts and the tractor. Tomorrow night or at dawn sometime they will drag the deck away, roll up the canvas, and set up their shoot. They can’t do it in the daylight for fear someone will get curious. And they can’t do it now, lest some fly-over spot those bad boys sitting in the excavation.”

“Please tell me the shoot won’t go as planned.”

“Charlie, if you are correct about those things needing to dry launch, they won’t.”

“And if I’m wrong?”

“They will go up, then straight down into the Chesapeake Bay. I bent their guidance fins past repair.”

Ike filled them in on the sabotage he’d performed on the pump and sensors. The SEALs gave him a high five. Charlie looked relieved. Bunky started to sing.

***

The director of the CIA had positioned himself, Buddha-like, in a chair facing the door. They burst in, all smiles and roaring the last refrain of “There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.” The director’s expression brought this hilarity, born of nervous energy and relief, to a screeching halt.

Buddha-like in posture, volcanic in mien, the director pointed a finger at Charlie and, in a voice just short of yelling said, “Where the Hell have you been? I told you to stay put, and you Schwartz, were to stand down and wait for the FBI.” He seemed ready to go on, but Ike interrupted him.

“Director, you also said Paris, remember? A few things you need to know before you blow a gasket, or start your ulcer bleeding again. One, Charlie went on this operation because we needed him. Same for Connie and Whaite. We had work to do and your buddies in the White House and the Joint Chiefs weren’t bright enough, or gutsy enough, to give a nod in the right direction. If we’d waited for them…”

Ike paused and unfastened his belt. He dropped it on the table and removed the digital camera. He slid it across the table to the red-faced director.

“Two, you wanted absolute proof that what we believed was more than a supposition. There are photographs of the missiles in this. You can upload them to the pussies in the Whitehouse.”

Ike worked his way into the bathroom and began removing his greasepaint.

“Three, unless those old Sunburns have been retrofitted to wet launch, they are not going anywhere and the guys doing the launching will assume the failure was accidental. At least they are not likely to stick around to find out otherwise.”

He stripped off his wet jumpsuit and donned a pair of olive corduroy slacks, a biscuit-colored turtleneck sweater, and loafers.

“Four, the ball is now in your court. Now, what have
you
done in the last twelve hours to put the toothpaste back in the tube?” He tossed the dosimeter on the table next to the camera.

“I was close enough to the noses of both of those things to expose this. You can check it for radiation. If it’s hot, you might want to rethink the idea of an air strike.”

The director seemed nonplussed. He recovered. “Just a minute, Ike—”

“No, Mr. Director, no more minutes. We busted our asses for you tonight. We were getting nothing from you—
nada
, zilch. The country was about to go to Hell in a hand basket, and your people wanted to be reassured, for crying out loud. Also, unless you missed it the first three times, I don’t work for you anymore and I have no desire to work for you in the future. So, if you have a complaint about my handling of this bit of business you can—”

Charlie stepped between the two men. “We’re all a little tired and uptight. Let’s back up a little. Director, the missiles here are dead in the water, figuratively and literally. But we do have something for the FBI. Is that right, Ike?”

“They can cordon off that property. The minute they hear that tractor start up, they need to grab every one of the bastards, before they can signal the rest of their friends, and take out the launch panel. If that yacht returns, it’s a good bet they’re planning to escape in it. Have a Coast Guard cutter standing by to haul them in.”

The director swallowed. “You’re right. We’ve all been too close to this and you are right, Washington has a lot to answer for. Okay, I’m sorry Ike. Do you really have the damned things out of commission?”

“As Charlie said, dead in fifteen feet of water.”

Ike packed his small duffel and went to retrieve his toiletries from the bathroom.

“Well, on this end,” the director said to group, “we have shifted the synchronous orbit of the Littoral Scan a few degrees. We have all four ships in view. At daybreak, we will zoom in. The minute they pop their holds open and we see the Sunburns, the Navy will sink them.”

Ike patted his pockets and made a quick survey of the room. “Backup?”

“Ships nearby, radar locked in, antimissile systems up and running. If they happen to get one off, we’ll shoot it down within a mile of launch.”

Ike headed toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Ike stepped through the door into the night.

“Me? I’m going home for the holidays.”