Operation (18 page)

“Sure,” Arthur agreed.

“Next, the Federal government wants a large chunk to be preserved as a National Park and wildlife area, which, of course, has the support of every tree hugger in the region.”

“Not much of a surprise there,” Arthur said.

“Then the Indians want to claim it for their own so they can develop a village and museum, but the city keeps thinking all the Indians want is a casino.”

“Sounds like a can of worms to me,” Arthur said.

“You betcha,” agreed Jake, chuckling. “So no short answer. When people or groups cannot agree, they just file lawsuits against each other and that ties it up in courts long enough for the lawyers to put their kids and maybe even their grandchildren through college.”

Arthur laughed. “That’s great. But the scary part is that you’re probably correct.”

“Yeah, well, I shouldn’t sound so pessimistic. I got my start here because of this place and I’m still around. The day it goes, I probably will to.”

Arthur caught the reflective tone in Jakes voice. “Time to play some golf then, huh, Jake? Take that cruise and just enjoy life.”

Jake chuckled softly but did not say anything. 

They arrived at the old barracks and got out of the police cruiser. Arthur opened the trunk and removed a large flashlight. “Let’s go.”

The two men walked toward the old building. The sun was bright and warm on a late spring day, but soon the humidity would climb as high as the temperature and the Tidewater area would become like a sauna for several months before the respite of fall arrived.

“Here we are,” Jake said. “Like I said, I can’t remember this place ever being used for anything after they shut it down in the early ‘90s.”
 

Arthur scanned the building. It was cinderblock and built in the traditional fashion of a military barracks, long and narrow. Arthur remembered this type of building from his own four-year stint in the Army. The windows and doors were boarded over, but the sheets of plywood appeared to have been in place so long that a swift kick or push would obliterate the wood. He stepped back and looked at the roof. From what he could see, there were plenty of holes and tears in it.

“Yeah, it sure looks like a barracks,” Arthur said.

“It’s one of two. There’s another one down a ways,” Jake he said, as he pointed.

Arthur looked but did not see anything in the direction Jake had pointed. “How big did you say the place was?” Arthur asked.

“The old base?”

“Yeah.”

“It covers…oh, somewhere near six hundred acres or so.”

“Six hundred acres!”

“Navy needed a lot of room during the war.”

“That’s a lot of land,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “I hope the detectives aren’t planning on having me check all of it out. If so, I’m going to need a lot more help.”

“Well, the larger half back there,” Jake said, as he pointed, “has a new security fence around it, complete with barb wire at the top. It was the last project that the base had to complete before closure. The city planned to develop this area first then eventually get to the back. But like I explained earlier, all of that is tied up in the courts and probably will be for a long time to come.”

“Well, that’s good to hear—I hope the detectives buy that as explanation enough not to search the entire area.”

A wind rose up from the east, causing a piece of plywood covering the door nearest them to swing in the breeze, making a scraping and banging sound. Both men looked in the direction of the noise.

“I guess maybe it isn’t closed up,” Arthur said.

“Don’t sound like it,” Jake agreed.

“Sounds like it’s coming from where the doors are,” Arthur pointed and started walking in that direction. Jake fell into step behind him.

As Arthur reached the door, he easily slid the rotting piece of plywood to the side and peered into the darkness.

“Aw…shit!” he yelled as he covered his nose and backed up hurriedly, almost knocking Jake over in the process.

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked.

“The smell… Jesus Christ!” Arthur winced. “Smells like rotten meat…awful.”

Jake stepped closer to the opening. Arthur heard him inhale deeply.

“Don’t…” Arthur croaked, but before Jake had even finished drawing in his deep breath, he pulled back, kneeled over and vomited. Arthur came alongside him and helped him back up.

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah…I think so. Pretty powerful stench, isn’t it?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Arthur said. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, my stomach is settling.”

“Okay, wait here. I’m going back to the cruiser. I have some mentholated jelly that might help with the smell.”

“I’ll be here,” Jake said, a forced grin on his pasty white face. “I don’t think I’ll be going in there with you with or the mentholated jelly. I don’t think I could handle it.”

“That’s okay. I can call for assistance and—”

“We can do it ourselves. I can stay out here and make sure you get out okay,” Jake quickly offered. “I’m…I’m not totally useless. It’s just that the smell caught my old constitution and sent it on a whirlwind trip into outer space.”

“Sure.” Arthur said. He could hear the embarrassment in Jake’s voice. He might be old but his pride was obviously still young and vibrant. “Okay then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Arthur quickly returned. “I’m going in to have a quick look around. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, here is my cell phone. Just dial nine-one-one.”

“Got it. What do you think smells so bad in there?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know. I guess it could be a number of things, maybe a dead deer or some other kind of animal. There’s only one way to find out for sure. Be right back.”

Arthur turned on his flashlight, and slid the sheet of rotting plywood to one side. He took an apprehensive step inside. The smell was manageable and cool dank air seemed to envelop his body.

He paused, taking a quick and cursory look around while he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A little light came in through the holes in the roof but they were sucked into the darkness.

“Jake?” Arthur called.

“Yeah.”

“See if you can find something to prop this sheet of wood in an open position to let some light in so that I know where I came in. Just remember to hold your breath when you’re near the opening.”

“All right, I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thanks.”

Arthur shined the beam of the powerful flashlight in a slow sweeping arc from left to right. It cut through about ten to twelve feet of the darkness, but the beam faded quickly past that distance. He advanced two steps and followed the same procedure. Then two more steps.

“Arthur,” Jake called. “I found a piece of wood to prop it open.”

“Okay.”

Arthur continued to scan the area as he heard Jake slide the wood aside and wedge it open. It grew slightly brighter around him. Arthur felt somewhat better, even though he still could not see more then maybe fifteen feet in front of him. The darkness was impenetrable to the light. He continued to move forward and found himself in a narrow passageway. His flashlight was able to define the confines of the passageway, but not much more than that. He turned to his left and headed in that direction.

After a few moments, he entered a larger area. He assumed that it was an open area, like some kind of meeting space. He stood here for several seconds, listening for any sounds or anything else his senses might pick up. The terrible smell was getting stronger, stronger even than the jelly under his nose.

He took a step and his shoes squeaked and squished on the cement floor, sticking slightly. He shone the light on floor and saw that there were splotches of dark liquid everywhere, red and viscous. He could see footprints traced through the liquid; smaller than his, and leading him forward.

Walking slowly, he followed the footprints and the splattering of sticky liquid. He alternated shining his light at the floor just beneath him as well as in front of him. After a few more steps, his flashlight stopped on a sneaker. Next to the abandoned sneaker, he found a foot which appeared to have been torn from a leg.

Aw shit
…he said to himself as he struggled to maintain control of his stomach.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
…

Moving the flashlight a little further, he found a leg, an arm and part of a torso. His hand instinctively moved to his revolver; he removed the safety holster latch and slid the weapon out. He raised it to waist height and held it there, synchronizing his arm movements—light and gun together.

I’ve seen enough—time to get some help.

He began his exit. Step by step, he slowly moved back the way he had come while continued sweeping the area with his flashlight. He felt sweat begin to trickle down his back in spite of the cool air inside the old building.

Yeah…I’m scared all right—damned scared. I just want to get the hell out of here right now!

Suddenly a cold breeze slapped his face. It was so sharp that it knocked him off balance. He recovered himself enough to keep from tumbling uncontrollably, but he still fell back on his rear.

What the hell was that?

As he started to get back on his feet, the strange wind returned, knocking him back down again. It was then he heard soft laughter, almost childish in a way. He felt himself shake uncontrollably.

Screw this!

This time, instead of getting all the way back on his feet, he stayed low, turned toward the dim light of the door and began scooting forward. Suddenly the light of the door was gone.

What the fuck, Jake? Oh no—no, you don’t!

Standing to run full out, he shouted: “Jake!”

“Over here,” Jake’s voice answered, just loud enough to give Arthur a direction.

Arthur ran to his right, lunging for the opening. As he struck the sheet of wood, it partially gave way and he found himself halfway out, blinded by the bright sunlight. He released the breath he had been holding in relief, dropping the flashlight and placing his gun on the ground so he could use his hands to get the rest of the way through the opening. His heart was racing a mile a minute. 

As he placed his hands on the rotting piece of wood for support, he felt an iron grip grasp both of his feet and pull ferociously.

“What the…”

Arthur released one handhold on the wood and tried to grab his pistol. He missed. Slowly loosing his grip or the wood, he looked at Jake, wide-eyed and desperate.

“Help me, for Christ sakes!” he cried as the wood cracked loudly and began to give way.

Before Jake could respond, Arthur’s body shot back into the building. Jake heard one scream and then all was silent.

*****

Jake stood and watched calmly before turning away from the opening and walking over to one of the smaller outbuildings. Inside, Jake grabbed a weathered piece of plywood and a box of nails that he had allowed to rust. He grabbed a hammer from the shelf and carried all of the materials back to the building. He placed the board over the door and nailed it over the hole. When he finished and returned the hammer and leftover nails to the outbuilding, he realized that the police cruiser would be a problem—where were the keys?

As he thought about it, he remembered that Arthur had placed them back on his belt after he had retrieved the masks from the trunk of the cruiser. How the hell was he going to—

He heard the clinking sound of metal hitting the cement at his feet. He looked down and saw the car keys. The tab on the key ring read: “Suffolk Police Department. Cruiser 1A345.” He picked them up and returned to the cruiser.

Getting in, he started it up, and cranked the air conditioner to high. He sat in the car for a few minutes, letting the cool air bathe his sweat-coated body. As he sat, his eyes roamed around the car. He looked at the shotgun locked into place on the dashboard, the radar equipment, the police radio, and for a moment found some humor in his present location. He lowered the window and turned to address someone, even though there was no one there.

“Excuse me, sir, going a little fast there, weren’t we?” He laughed. “Well, I ain’t going to let you off with any warning. Pay the judge, you son of a bitch. Or better yet, pay me!” As the giddiness of the situation left him, he dropped the cruiser into drive and headed down the old road that led further into the abandoned base. He knew a place that would work…if he could just remember where it was.

Old memory just ain’t what it used to be.

 
“Aw hell, that ain’t so. I just choose not to remember,” he muttered.

He drove along, looking for the spot. What little paved road there was turned into gravel and then into grassy dirt, untravelled for quite some time. The forest and vegetation reclaiming what was rightfully theirs. He stopped at a clearing. Looking around, Jake searched his memory for the name of this place.

“The rotary,” he said. “Yeah. That was it. The rotary. This was where the runways would branch off of the central hub.” He sank into the seat of the now comfortably cooled interior of the police cruiser. He lowered his head, lost in memory.

It was 19…1944. Yeah…that was it, 1944. I was seventeen then and had come here to work for the Navy, it was my first week. The planes were coming in that night, planes from Europe. The war was almost over. I waited for them here, next to the rotary in my truck.

He raised his head and looked around. Now, instead of the overgrown woods area, he looked upon the cleared grass runways that were spurs off the rotary. The marker lights were on, illuminating the length of the runway. He was no longer in the police cruiser, but in a 1943 Chevrolet five-ton truck and he was seventeen again.

Yeah, they never did catch me, said I was nineteen. But they were short-handed for help so they hired me on without any further questions being asked. Them were the days, no bullshit rules like they have today.

Chapter Three

1944

“You! In the truck!” A voice yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”