Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 (19 page)

"That took some guts," Marcus said. "He's lucky they didn't just arrest his butt and toss him in a jail cell for about twenty years or so."

"They threatened to, from what I understand," Commander Price said, "but it quickly became clear to their security staff that if they did, they'd have to explain how a man barely twenty-five years old managed to hack their system and wipe out a chunk of their small business credit lines and then get away with the money. Part of his deal for working with them was that he'd not only return the funds but he would also wipe all evidence that they were gone and make it look like a simple network failure."

"What about combat skills?"  Marcus asked. Those kinds of considerations still seemed odd and somewhat out of place to Marcus, but he found himself beginning to think of everything in military terms.

"He saw some heavy action in Afghanistan and the first two years of Iraq," Commander Price answered. "He won four commendations for valor in six years of deployment. That says a lot."

Marcus nodded. He looked around at the halls and offices they were passing, as a puzzled frown creased his brow. Commander Price was taking them steadily lower into the facility. It would have been quicker to use the elevator, but instead they were winding their way along corridors and hallways that had a gentle downward grade. The halls would only take them so far, though, and eventually they'd have to get to the elevators in order to pay the prisoner a visit.

"I thought you wanted to stay away from the suspects," Marcus said cautiously. "Worried you'd lose your cool and do something that could compromise the investigations, right?"

"I know," Commander Price said through his clenched jaw, "but after listening to you, I feel like I need to see him for myself. I need to look him in the eye and see if he's lying or if he's really innocent in all of this."

Marcus didn't say anything more, but he didn't think it was a good idea. Commander Price had apparently said all he needed to say as well, and they walked in silence down the last few twists and turns of the corridor to one of the lowest level elevator banks that would take them deeper into the roots of Henry Mountain. A few dozen stories up, the solar panels turned in the bright Utah sun, soaking up energy and spitting out electricity. They weren't head up, though.

Marcus pressed the button, and they waited for the doors to slide open. Once they were inside, the doors slid closed and the elevator started down smoothly and quickly. At the bottom level. Two sentries guarded the door that lead into the security detention area, both of them from the Commander's specially selected tactical team. They both stood at attention when they saw Commander Price.

"At ease, men," Commander Price said, and the men relaxed just a fraction. "Quiet down here, I trust?"

The two nodded. The older man on the left nodded toward the door. "Not one word out of the suspect. No one's been down since the dinner tray was dropped off."

The Commander frowned and looked over at Marcus. "Did you order a dinner tray?"  he asked.

Marcus shook his head, "No. I dropped him off in here and came straight to your office to report."

Before Marcus had finished talking, Commander Price was already through the outer door and running down the corridor of empty security cells. He slid to a stop outside the last cell and fumbled with his keys. Finally, he got the right one and flung open the door.

Petty Officer Jacobs lay on the floor, the contents of his dinner tray spread across the small bed and table. Foam was still dribbling from the corners of his mouth, and his face was a horrible shade of purplish red. A thin, watery trail of blood ran from his nose.

Marcus checked Jacobs' pulse, but shook his head. "He's gone, sir," Marcus said, and he gently closed the Petty Officer's eyes.

"Do you remember who brought the tray?"  Commander Price asked the two security guards.

Both of them shook their heads, and the senior one let out a string of curses. "Sir, we checked the tray for any knives, forks, anything looked like it could be used as a weapon, but it cleared. We sent the orderly back up and I brought the tray to the Petty Officer."

"It's not your fault," Commander Price reassured the man. "You two take the elevator up to habitat level F. Seal it and make sure no one gets on until we come up, understand? Once we get up there, I'll send the base doctor back down. No one but the doc, the Lieutenant Commander here, or myself gets on that elevator, men. Understand?"

"Yes sir," both men said together. They turned and marched back down the hallway, leaving Commander Price and Marcus in the room with the dead man.

"I guess we know he wasn't part of it, at least," Marcus said once they were alone.

"Not necessarily," the Commander said with a slight shake of his head, "spies in the sixties used to carry cyanide capsules around in case they got caught. They would use them from time to time too."

"Do you think Jacobs did this?"  Marcus asked, shocked at the thought.

"Probably not," Commander Price answered with a slight shrug, "but we can't rule it out just yet. In a way, though, it'd almost be better if he did die by his own hand. At least that way there's a slim chance he was working alone. If he was murdered, though, then you're correct in that he probably wasn't part of the plan. But it also means there has to be more than one other person who was involved because the thief that stole Petty Officer Jacobs' print card and used it wouldn't have been so sloppy as to kill him this quickly."

Marcus suddenly felt sick to his stomach. "So you mean instead of one spy or assassin or whatever on the loose, we might have a whole team? Hell, why not a whole army?"

Commander Price gave him a cool, calm look. "Why do you think I brought in and built a special forces company, Lieutenant Commander? Why do you think I suddenly drafted the staff? If there's a war coming, and I am just about positive there is, the first place to see fighting will be right here."

Suddenly the Commander's face grew hard, and he leaned forward. "And I mean to win."

Ch.29

The Price That's Paid

The sun was gone, and the western sky was fading slowly from a deep golden red to a pearly gray that radiated a hint of violet at the edges. Venus hung low and bright in the sky like a taunting reminder of the sun's brightness only a few hours before. In the east, stars were beginning to pop out of the velvety backdrop of the early evening. Joe moved silently through the trees, slipping from shadow to shadow with ease. He was downwind from the small camp site now, and he could smell the smoking beef. If he'd had a smaller lunch, his stomach might have growled and given him away.

Joe dropped to a low crawl as the fire light began to grow brighter through the trees ahead. He could smell horses, too, and hear their soft chatter to each other off to the right. He'd already introduced himself to the horses, so they didn't make a fuss. He'd smeared peanut butter and raisins along the rope that was strung between two small pine trees and served as the crude picket line. Even if they didn't nibble through the rope and free themselves like he hoped, they'd be licking the peanut butter off for a while at least, and that would keep them quiet.

Joe crawled forward slowly on his belly until he could see around the roots of a large pine tree that towered over all of its neighbors. He had a clear view of the camp and could see a middle aged man with a few days stubble on his cheeks. The man had receding hair and deeper lines along his eyes and mouth than a man his age should have. He looked accustomed to long hours in the hot sun and the biting cold. To his left was a rough wooden rack made of bent saplings and limbs that hung over a bed of smoking coals. Strips of beef hung on the rack in the thick smoke that billowed up from the coals.

To the man's right stood an oak tree with a lever action rifle propped against it. At his feet were two massive Rottweilers. One of them was looking his way with its ears perked curiously. Joe carefully settled himself behind the tree and sited in on the dog looking at him.

"Hold onto your dogs!"  Joe called out loudly, and suddenly both dogs shot to their feet. The man cursed and grabbed their collars, one in each hand; then he looked back toward the lever action rifle. "Make a move for that gun and I'll have to kill the dogs," Joe called. "Then I'll probably have to shoot you at least once"

The man looked like he was mulling it over anyway, but finally he turned his head and spat. "All right, I'll hold 'em. But you gotta come where I can see you."

Joe stood and worked his way around to the left, making sure to keep a tree between him and the man behind the fire. The dogs, both alert and intent on his every move, followed his progress with a low growl building in their throats. The man said something Joe couldn't hear, and both dogs sat in unison, though they seemed ready to charge at his command. True to his word, the man held on to the two collars.

Moving forward slowly, carefully, Joe kept his rifle ready and his finger hovering just outside the trigger guard in case he had to move quickly. He stepped just inside the light of the fire and nodded to the man. "If you've got a way to tie those dogs up, I'd appreciate it," he said. "That way we can have a relaxed conversation."

The man looked pointedly at the rifle in Joe's hands. "Relaxed, huh? I think I'll hold onto them for now. They're behaving good enough at the moment. Who are you?"

"Fair enough," Joe said, "but understand that if I even think one of them is coming at me, I'll drop 'em both. I've seen what dogs like that can do to a man and it ain't pretty. You alone or you got someone with you?"

The man hesitated and tightened his grip on the dogs' collars. "I'm alone. Who are you?"

Joe snorted. "You got some balls on ya—I'll give ya that. I'm the man whose cow you're smokin. Who are you?"

The man shook his head. "Nah, you ain't Mr. Thompson. I work at my uncle's processing shop out in West Bennett. I see Mr. Thompson two or three times a year when he's in the shop, and you ain't him."

Joe relaxed a bit, but kept his rifle ready. "You're right about that. I'm not Mr. Thompson. But if you know the man who owned this herd, then you know you ain't him either. So that still leaves the question of why you've killed and smoked half a cow that you know ain't yours."

The man's jaw clenched a few times, but after a moment he heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his eyes. "My name's Daniel, but everyone calls me Danny. I need the meat for my family. Everything we had went rotten after the blackout. My uncle's got his well, but we still need to eat."

Joe watched intently as the man spoke; he didn't seem to be lying, so Joe dropped the barrel of his rifle a touch and motioned toward the dogs. "Your friends are still making me nervous. My name is Joe Tillman, and you have my word that I won't hurt you. Now, can you please put them on a leash or something?" 

"Orson, Wells," Danny said, tugging on each collar, "Off threat. Down."  The two massive dogs relaxed and lay down, their tongues rolling out of their mouths like long pink ribbons. "I train security dogs when I'm not working my uncle's processing plant. These boys were star pupils and I kept them for myself."

Joe nodded and kept his finger near his trigger. Trained dogs like that could be switched on with one word sometimes, and he didn't want to get caught with his guard down. "What I said before about this being my cow, I wasn't lying," Joe said pointing at the strips of smoked beef. "I knew the Thompsons, and they're gone now. I'm in a partnership with their son, and I've got half interest in his herds. That means half the cow you've got laid out on that rack is his, and half is mine. But ain't a bit of it yours."

"Son?"  Danny asked, "Where's he at? If the cows are his, why ain't I talking to him face to face?"

"Because you're talking to me," Joe said, "and since you killed that cow without permission, I guess that means you're willing to pay whatever we ask for it. Otherwise people might think you meant to steal it from us, and that would cause problems."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "Now wait a minute, Mister," he said, pointing to the beef. "I told you why I killed the cow. There's people starving back in West Bennett, and my family's among 'em. We need this food."

"I understand that," Joe said calmly, "and if you'd come asked for the cow, we might have given it to you. But you didn't come and ask; you snuck up on the back side of the new Mr. Thompson's property and you poached it. Like I said, if you were to take that beef without paying for it, people would think you stole it from us. Now, I know you don't want people thinking you're a thief, and I can't have people thinking it's okay to just come in here and steal our cows out from under us. So that's a problem for the both of us. So the way I see it, you can pay for the cows and there's no problem. Or we can go the other road."

"What's the other road?"  Danny asked, meeting Joe's hard stare head on.

"I shoot you and your dogs right here," Joe said calmly. "We'll bury you out by the road, and people will get the message that it ain't okay to come in here and poach our cattle. Either way, I'm happy, so you tell me which way you want to do this."

"What's the price?"  Danny asked after a long moment of silence. His face twisted at the bitter taste of the words coming out of his mouth.

"The two horses and their saddles," Joe said pointing back through the trees toward the picket line. "You leave them here, and you're good to go with the beef—as much as you can take."

"Hell, that's robbery!"  Danny shouted back, and both dogs made a deep growling sound.

Joe's rifle was up and leveled at the nearest dog before Danny could blink. "If they move, they're dead and you are too, got it?"  Joe asked and waited for Danny to nod before he continued. "You knew the Thompsons were dead. You didn't even bat an eye when I mentioned it, and the smoke from that house burning was visible for miles around a couple of days ago. You had to put two and two together. So you knew there were people there at the house, and you didn't even try to make a deal for the cow. You saw an opportunity to take something, and you took it. As far as I see it, you're a thief, plain and simple. You're right, there's a lot of people dying right now cause they ain't got food. And you poaching
our
cattle is just like you taking food out of my family's mouth. Well, that dog don't hunt, Danny. So you give us those horses and saddles and be on your way, or I swear to Christ I will bury you and your dogs by that road and I won't lose a wink of sleep over it."