Reaper (7 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Before leaving the phone center, Max made three calls.  The first was to Will Mason in Building Maintenance.  They set up a meeting at the southern substation for later in the afternoon.  The second was to the ambulance company Myra worked for.  Their dispatch informed him that she was at one of the triage/decontamination centers, located in a vacant building that used to be a Kmart store, on Bascom Avenue.  The final call was to Steve to inform him of their new assignment and to instruct him to meet Max at the old Kmart on Bascom, as soon as he could.

Steve’s response, “Fuckin’ A!”

Max next picked up his letter of authorization and temporary promotion from the Chief’s office before stopping by Central Supply and the Police Range to check out some of the equipment he thought he’d need.  From the latter two locations, he took possession of a new ballistic vest, four Remington 870 12 gauge shotguns, two LAR 15 carbines with magazines, twenty boxes of 12 gauge, double aught buck shotgun shells, and four hundred rounds each of 5.56 and 9mm cartridges.  After loading all that in his truck, he headed to the old Kmart store to check on Myra and meet up with Steve.

In route to the triage/decontamination center, Max turned on his car radio to listen to the local news.  From there he learned that travel on highways 101 south, 880 south, and 280 north was slow-going due to the number of people voluntarily evacuating the San Jose/Santa Clara area.  On a national level, the radio station reported the Dow had dropped another five hundred and thirty-five points on a selloff due to the dirty bomb detonated in California.  With the selloff that had occurred following the other attacks, worldwide, it made for nearly a fifteen hundred point decline.  Experts were already speculating on how this would lead to a shrinking of the economy and rise in unemployment, during a time when the United States was just getting back on its feet.

There, of course, was a great deal of discussion about dirty bombs, their limited physical destruction, but huge psychological damage.  One speculative comment that particularly caught Max’s attention concerned the suspicion that Cesium 137 was the radioactive substance dispersed, and it was also the substance that had been stolen and never recovered in Mexico.  This reminded Max of the article he’d read earlier in the day detailing part of the on-going federal investigation that suggested a possible connection between radical Muslim terrorists and Mexican drug cartels.

As Max approached the location on Bascom Avenue, he couldn’t believe his eyes.  It looked more like a prison camp than a place where people went to be treated for injury or exposure.  The parking lot was already surrounded by a six-foot chain-link fence.  At the corners, and in several places in-between, were Department of Homeland Security MRAP vehicles (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicles) weighing fourteen tons each.  These were manned by M4 carbine-totting federal police.  More armed federal police were stationed at the entrances, stopping and searching vehicles entering the property.  Inside the perimeter was a large, OD green tent with a handwritten sign out front announcing “Decon.”  Several San Jose Fire Department trucks were parked around it, and fire fighters in protective suits were going in and out of the structure.  A helicopter, painted black with the DHS logo on its fuselage, rested in one corner of the lot.

Thirty to forty yards from the tent was the old Kmart building.  On the door was another handwritten sign that read, “Triage/Treatment/Shelter,” with arrows pointing to different doors.  Two DHS cops were standing guard outside the doors.  Several ambulances were parked nearby, a couple with their doors open.

Max pulled up to the perimeter entrance where two DHS guards, sitting in white plastic lawn chairs, rose to their feet and approached.

Max removed his San Jose P.D. badge clipped to his belt and showed it to them.

One of the guards, a white guy with a long narrow nose, thick rubbery scar on his chin, and wearing a pair of gloves without fingers, said, “You got picture ID to go with that?”

Max pulled out his wallet, removed his ID card, and handed it over.

Scarface stepped closer to the driver’s window to accept it and as he did, saw the weapons in the backseat of the truck.  He brought the barrel of his carbine up, pointing it at Max’s face and said, “Hands.  Lemme see some fucking hands.”

Max put his hands on the steering wheel and replied, “Are you out of your mind?  Get that thing out of my face.  I’m a cop.  Look at my ID, dumb shit.  These are department weapons I’m taking to a police department facility.”

The second guard came around to the driver’s side of the vehicle and shouldered his weapon.

Max could see people looking his way and a few starting over, including a uniformed California Highway Patrol officer and three or four DHS officers.

“Get out of the car!” Scarface yelled, holding his rifle by the pistol grip in his right hand, pulling open Max’s door with the other, and stepping back at the same time.

Max slid out of his truck, staring at the finger Scarface had on the trigger of his weapon, and said, “Can’t you read?  I’m a police officer.  These firearms are lawfully possessed.  Get your finger off that trigger and put your weapons down.”  He then stepped toward Scarface who backed up.  At the same time all this was going on, he was aware of a vehicle stopping behind him.  He assumed it was someone from DHS blocking him in.

Scarface saw that Max was wearing a pistol and said as much to his partner who started yelling, “Put your hands on your head!  Put your hands on your head!”

Max felt the anger well up inside him.  He ignored the command and kept walking toward Scarface.  “What are you two idiots going to do, shoot a cop?  The crazy thought came into his head that if he could get close enough, he’d grab the barrel of Scarface’s carbine, push it up, and disarm him.

He was almost within reach of it when he heard Steve’s voice behind him, “If you two fucks don’t lower your weapons, I’ll kill you both.  He’s a cop.”

Max took a chance, looked behind him, and saw Steve in full uniform standing behind the bed of the pick-up with his pistol out and pointed at Scarface.  When he looked front again, he saw that the CHP officer, this one with sergeant stripes on his sleeves, had arrived, apparently had heard Steve’s threat, and pushed Scarface’s gun barrel up.

“Get those guns up, now!” he shouted.  “What’s the matter with you guys?”

To make matters even more interesting, among the group of people approaching was one dressed in white paper coveralls, paper booties, and running at full speed in his direction.  “What are you guys doing!” Myra shouted.

Scarface, clearly now on the defensive said, “He’s got a bunch of guns in his truck.  I was checking him out like I’m supposed to.”

“And you’re holding my police identification in your hand, too.”

“It could have been fake ID.”

Steve, who had holstered his pistol, pushed past Max, grabbed the ID card from Scarface’s hand, and said, “The only thing fake around here are you two idiots.”  He turned his back on Scarface and gave Max his ID back.

Then it was Myra’s turn.  She pushed through the crowd, shoved Scarface and said, “These guys have been acting like a bunch of jerks all day.”  Turning her attention on Max, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.  I just came here to check on you.  I was worried.”

“Oh, gawd,” Steve said.  “This is like a damn soap opera.”  He looked at Scarface and his partner and said, “Why don’t you guys go back to playing with yourselves and let us get some business done here?”  He next addressed the CHP officer who was still standing there shaking his head, and thanked him for the support.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Max asked Myra.

“Why are you always getting into trouble?” Myra asked in return, with a smile on her face. “I’m fine.  They ran a Geiger counter over me after my last transport and found my clothes and boots were contaminated.  So I trashed them and my gear, showered in the tent, that was fun, and dressed in the only thing they had for me, these.”  She raised her arms to shoulder level and did a slow turnaround.  “I’m clear of radiation now.  …You came to check on me?  Really?”  She reached out and touched his forearm.

“For Chrissakes, keep your pants on, you guys.  Everyone’s still looking,” Steve said, putting a pinch of tobacco in his mouth.

“What are you doing now?” Max asked.

“Nothing, I’m done.  Our rig has to be decontaminated, and I don’t have clothes or gear.  So I guess I was going to hitch a ride to my car and head home.”

“I’ll drop you if you want?”

“Perfect.”  She walked to the open driver’s door with the intention of getting in and sliding over, saw the guns lying on the back seat, and said, “Expecting more trouble?”

Max laughed, “Always.  I’ll explain it to you on the way, but first I want to hear about what happened today.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was the first time Max had ever really laid eyes on the place, though it had sat vacant for years, a monument to everything wrong with governments and the people who run them.  The substation was a one hundred thousand square foot, three-story, ninety million dollar building, kinda, sorta shaped like a triangle that sat in the middle of ten acres in south San Jose.  There was parking on the outside as well as underneath.  It was surrounded with a perimeter fence, patches of landscaping here and there, and, in a head nod to conservation groups, also sported a green roof; California speak for a garden roof with a built-in rainwater, irrigation system.

The facility was surrounded by other commercial buildings of similar size, all mostly vacant.  To the east was a set of train tracks, beyond that Monterey Highway, and still further yet, a residential neighborhood.

Waiting for Max and Steve, right on time, was Will Mason, a six-foot three, two hundred seventy pound man, with hands the size of twenty ounce sirloins, skin the color of a Hersey bar, and a head shaved clean on top but with a full, neatly trimmed beard below.  He greeted Max and Steve with a smile that showed a perfect set of white, white teeth and a handshake that was surprisingly gentle.

“The Chief told me what you’re doin’, and I think it’s a good idea.  People are thinking all kinds of things right now, scared to all get out, and with all that’s happenin’, there’s good reason to be, too.  It just seems like all of a sudden everything’s all messed up and nobody’s safe nowhere.”

Max immediately liked him.  “Well, maybe we can do a little bit of good here.”

The tour took two hours, and the information was overwhelming.  In addition to the usual stuff; air conditioning, telephones, internet, radio communication, thermostats, televisions, irrigation systems, elevators, the fire suppression system, and coded locks; the building had back-up generators, a prisoner processing area with holding cells, a day-care facility, infra-red cameras and monitoring station, a small but fully equipped gym, a functional kitchen and break room, a public address system, men’s and women’s locker rooms, a bunk room, a separate full-service vehicle building, a small firing range, and a steel reinforced arms room.

Max figured that as long as he could get the doors to the place open and toilets flushing, he could make do.  If anyone actually opted to send their family there, he’d hit the Chief up for someone from the city to maintain the building.

The last thing Will showed them were the two, large metal shipping containers, one of which housed the emergency supplies.  The other stood empty.

Inside the one with the emergency supplies, there were about fifty folding cots, a huge stack of blankets, several fifty gallon barrels of drinking water, first aid kits, hundreds, perhaps thousands of empty sandbags, road flares, highway cones; common tools such as shovels, axes, and saws, plus rubber boots, reflective vests, and rain gear.

Max was writing notes like mad, things he might need and ideas on how to organize a small group of urban refugees who may be living together for a short period of time.  The trouble was, he didn’t know if anyone would actually use the place, and, if they actually did, if they’d only just use it part time.  Not knowing made it difficult to plan.  He got his first hint, however, when he received a call from Fred Lopes, the President of the Police Union.

“When can people start showing up?” Lopes asked.

“How’d you find out about it so soon?” Max asked.

“The Chief called about an hour ago.”

“Are there people interested?”

“I’ve got four families so far.”

“All cop families?”

“Two are families of sworn and the other two are same as; our civilian staff here.”

“Hang on a minute,” Max said.

Max turned to Will, “How long would it take to get the electricity and air conditioning on so we can start hosting people?”

“Electricity, it’s already on.  Half the lights bulbs are disconnected, though, so a couple of hours to get the first floor fully lit.  Air conditioning we can have with the flip of a switch, but it will take a few hours to get the building to temperature.”

Max put the phone back to his ear.  “Fred, have them call me, and I’ll talk to them.”

“You don’t want me to coordinate that?”

Max thought this a tempting offer but also didn’t want people being confused as to who was running the show.  The Chief asked
him
to do it.  “No thanks, I got it.”

“Are you sure?  We have staff here who can organize everything.”

“Definitely, no.  I’ll handle all that.  Just have them call me.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line followed by, “Suit yourself.”

As soon as Max disconnected, Will said, “Ah, let me ask you this; I know this is a police thing and all, but can I bring
my
family here?”

When Max and the Chief spoke, Max got the definite impression that the purpose of this whole thing was to offer safety and peace of mind to police department personnel so they would show up for work, not to protect the entire city workforce.  But he also told Max that he was in charge.

“Absolutely.  Can I count on you helping us keep this monster up and running?”

“Of course.  Can I bring my RV and park it in the lot?  I’m not too excited about sleeping on a cot, and I definitely know my wife won’t be.”

Max nodded his head, “Okay, but not close to the fences.  We need access and visual on the full perimeter.  Also, I’m kinda flying by the seat of my pants here, so this might change, but you have to be responsible for you own food.  Now if we start getting a bunch of people, then we’re probably going to have to create a community pantry, so to speak, and cook community meals.”

“Okay, yeah, anything else?”

“Probably a million things, but off the top of my head, not right now.  …Wait.  You know what? People are going to be coming here because they’re scared, so they’re going to want to know what’s going on.  TV and internet; can you get them up and running?  Oh, and the security cameras, too.”

“I’ll do it today.  I’ll also bring my fifth-wheel in here by tonight.”