Decency (44 page)

“Captain, ask him to see if there is any indication of hunting pheasants he can see, a shotgun barrel, anything.”

Silence held while the State Patrol relayed the request.

“He’ll check…still without stopping though, right?”

“Right. If they’re who we think they are we don’t want them to move. They can’t even hear the planes we’re watching them from.”

Tom Koonce’s patrol car came into the field of view displayed from the Joint Stars and moved south down the screen in the Situation Room. After a minute it turned west, inched the remaining three miles toward the light parked west of the farm, and became a glow on the drone’s infrared display.

When closing on the parked vehicle, the State Patrol Captain’s voice relayed the report from the Sheriff.

“One five oh yards ahead…must be heavy smokers, smoke is coming out both driver and passenger windows…license plate number one eskimo mike rover three seven niner, repeat one eskimo mike rover three seven niner… passing them now…two Oriental males…driver about forty five, passenger about thirty…Enterprise rental sticker on rear bumper…no indications they are pheasant hunting…no indications they are not.”

“Horton, I’m running the renter’s id with Enterprise now…”

“Good, Captain…”

“I’m bringing the Sheriff to my location…”

“Enterprise reports vehicle rented from Omaha airport facility this morning, by Mr. Michael Cheng, address 16742 Hyacinth, Long Beach, California, no listed employer, and Mr. John Yang, same address…”

Horton’s mind raced through the analysis in a millisecond.

…unbelievable, they used their normal cover ID’s….we have probable cause on espionage on the Chinese…can we say these are the Chinese even though we know damn well they didn’t fly from California to hunt pheasants in front of the Pierce farm…? don’t look a gift horse in the mouth…Terry v. Ohio says we can stop and frisk on reasonable grounds short of probable cause and progeny cases say the same for cars… the Pierces are somewhere safe… no sign of Fitzgerald to spook him off…

“Captain, how long will it take you to apprehend them, doing it very quietly?”

“Two minutes, forty five seconds.”

Horton did
not
ask him to explain how on God’s green earth he knew that.

“Do it.”

Captain Schneider and his team knew this deal was done. Before they started to roll they knew when it would finish. They knew because they had practiced. And practiced. And practiced. They had practiced for stationary target buildings, vehicles, and persons. They had practiced for moving target vehicles and persons. They had practiced on streets, highways, gravel roads, and dirt roads. They had practiced in steady rain and storms. They had practiced in heavy snow and blizzard. They had practiced in summer heat so hot they sweated through their kevlar vests and uniforms. Their vans were much squatter and more stable than commercially available models. They knew how long it took to accelerate the two vans to maximum safe speed for the surface, how long it took to travel the necessary distance at the maximum safe speed, and how long it took to decelerate to a controlled stop.

And they had spent most of the afternoon calculating for just such as this. They knew one van would travel two and one quarter miles around the section adjoining the Pierce farm, approach the target from the rear, and block it from escaping in reverse gear. They knew the other would travel one and three quarters miles in the opposite direction, approach from the front, and block that route.

They knew each would hit maximum safe speed of seventy six miles per hour. They knew the time at which both would turn on their 10,000 candle power searchlights to blind the occupants. They knew at what second they would exit the vans.

The only thing they did not know was whether they would open the doors of the target vehicle, or the occupants would choose to, and manage to, do it for them.

They knew there would be no spoken commands.

They knew because they had practiced this many, many, many times before…and performed in real cases too many times.

Fitzgerald rose from his seat when the bong rang indicating the plane was stopped and chocked. He reached up to the overhead, pulled down his suitcase and queued up with the rest of the passengers for the elephant walk to the terminal.

The long-haired, pony-tailed wig and the walrus mustache that he put on in the restroom before going to his seat for take-off were tiresomely too warm, but even more necessary now than ever. The perceptual geometry they suggested to the observer’s eye distorted his appearance considerably. It would not be long before he could take them off in the rental car. He put his Australian bush-style hat on over the wig.

He exited the jetway, turned right, and trudged toward the rental car area. He noticed a pair of TSA police walking toward him to the gate where he just arrived. He knew there was no facial recognition equipment in use in Omaha’s Eppley terminal and was confident the humans’ eyes could not see through the disguise. They were glancing at pictures in their hands and checking the arriving passengers as best they could.

They looked at him…then moved on to the next person.

…idiots…

The Situation Room action team watched the lights indicating the highway patrol vehicles started moving, and Horton called out, “FAA, what’s the ETA for Sandoval and the Hostage Rescue Team?”

“Sandoval ETA, Offutt seven minutes. HRT ETA, Offutt twelve minutes.

“Santos, I want you to marry up with the HRT at Offutt and helicopter to the site together.”

“Will do.”

In the failing light just at sunset, Colonel Zhin noticed the rising dust boiling out behind the approaching van when it turned toward him only two hundred yards away. Just as he realized it must be moving very rapidly it seemed to slow down.

…ouch…that light is far too bright…

The light so startled Captain Ming he screeched in his native Mongol tongue, intelligible to no one for many miles, what roughly translated to, “Horse’s ass, depart!”

…no, it can’t be…

The Colonel ducked his head and reached for the gear shift lever to get the Jeep moving. But he was unaccustomed to its position and fumbled. He finally felt it and shoved it into drive. He looked up to guide the truck and could barely see the way ahead was already blocked.

The door opened. Surprisingly strong hands grabbed his collar and left leg and jerked him out so quickly he sat directly down in the road. Someone jumped past him into the driver’s seat.

…surely, the tailbone is cracked…

Instantly he was thrust face forward into the road, both arms jerked behind his back. A knee crashed down on the back of his head grinding his face in the dirt and gravel.

Before he could turn his face enough to scream, manacles were clamped too tightly around his wrists. Hands shoved his head to turn it. As his mouth opened heavy tape was mashed to his lips and across his eyes.

He was jerked again to his feet. Arms shot under his shoulders, pulling his wrists against the manacles.

He was propelled forward, lifted and heaved, head first, and landed on a metal surface.

Feet shuffled around him. A door closed.

This must be the van he saw coming. It moved.

The Situation Room attendees watched the NRO display as the vehicles converged, eerie little holographic ghost figures spilled out of the SWAT vans, swarmed the car, dragged other figures from either side, paused, took each occupant to separate vans, and entered. They saw one of the SWAT Team figures enter the Jeep and all three vehicles move west, away from the highway and away from the Pierce farm. They watched them turn south to return to the point they started from.

Horton looked at his watch. It had taken two minutes and thirty eight seconds.

Captain Schneider’s voice, stone calm, not out of breath, came over the speakerphone.

“Target is secure. Zero casualties. Ready to re-launch in two minutes and thirty seconds.”

Not a soul doubted it in the slightest.

“Good job, Captain. Put the Chinese in the Sheriff’s car and have him lock them up. Seal up their vehicle as soon as you can for it to be hauled from your site. Now, get the local sheriff or whoever you can to locate the Pierces.”

“Wait one.”

The action team listened for the silence to break.

“Horton, State Patrol.”

“Go.”