The Lion's Game (89 page)

“That’s right. Brimstone—that’s the ranch house—has thick adobe walls, the drapes and blinds are shut, and there are three agents in the house and two right outside. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out a way to get the Reagans out of here. Probably we’ll need a Stagecoach—that’s an armored limo. Plus a Tracker and a Tracer. That’s a lead and trail vehicle. Can’t use a Holly—that’s a helicopter.” He motioned toward the surrounding rims of rising terrain and said, “A good sniper with a scope could take out a helicopter with no problem.”

I said to Gene, “Sounds like you guys need a Hail Mary.”

He laughed, then replied, “Just need a little night prayer. At sunrise, we’re getting some reinforcements, including choppers with counter-sniper teams equipped with body-heat sensors and other detection devices. If this Khalil is in the area, we stand a good chance of finding him.”

Kate said, “I hope so. He’s killed enough people.”

“But understand that our primary mission and concern is protecting Mr. and Mrs. Reagan, and moving them to a safe location.”

I replied, “I understand. Most locations will be safe if you kill or apprehend Asad Khalil.”

“First things first. We’re in a static mode until the sun rises, and this fog burns off. You want to bunk down?”

“No,” I replied. “I want to put on a pair of jeans and a cowboy hat, and ride out on a horse and see if I can draw this bastard’s fire.”

“Are you serious?”

“Actually, no. But I am thinking about taking a look around. I mean, do you have to go check the guard posts or anything?”

“I can do that by radio.”

I said, “Nothing like the real thing. The troops appreciate seeing the boss.”

“Sure. Why not? You want to take a ride?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Kate, of course, said, “I’ll come with you.”

I had no intention of being protective, so I said, “If it’s okay with Gene, it’s okay with me.”

Gene said, “Sure. Are you two wearing vests?”

I said, “Mine’s in the laundry. You have some extras?”

“No. And you can’t borrow mine.”

Well, who needs bulletproof vests anyway?

We left the Secret Service building and went outside where an open Jeep Wrangler sat. I noticed that the Jeep had the new California license plates that said RONALD REAGAN LIBRARY, with a photo of the Gipper on the plate. I need one of those for a souvenir.

Gene climbed behind the wheel, and Kate sat beside him. I got into the back. Gene started it up, turned on the yellow fog lights, and off we went.

Gene said, “I know this ranch like the back of my hand. There are probably a hundred miles of horse trails, and the President used to ride all of them. We still have stone markers at strategic locations, with numbers actually drilled into them so that no one could mess around and change them. The Secret Service detail would ride with the President and radio in to the control center at each marker, and we’d plot the location.” He added, “Rawhide wouldn’t wear a vest, and it was a nightmare. I held my breath every afternoon until he got back.”

Gene sounded like he had some real affection for Rawhide, so to be a good guest, I said, “I was once on an NYPD presidential protection detail back in April eighty-two, when he spoke at the Sixty-ninth Regiment Armory in Manhattan.”

“I remember that. I was there.”

“How about that. Small world.”

We drove off into the boondocks, along horse trails obscured by fog and choked with brush. With the yellow fog lights on, the visibility wasn’t too bad. I could hear night birds singing in the trees.

Gene said to me, “There’s an M-14 rifle in that gun case. Why don’t you pull it out?”

“Great idea.”

I saw the gun case now, leaning against the driver’s seat. I opened the case and pulled out a heavy M-14 rifle with a scope.

Gene asked me, “You know how to use a starlight scope?”

“Hey, starlight scope is my middle name.” I couldn’t find the On switch, however, and Gene talked me through it.

In a minute or so, I was sighting down this really nifty night scope that made everything look green. There were a few breaks in the ground fog, and I was amazed at how this high-tech toy illuminated and magnified everything. I adjusted the focus and scanned three hundred sixty degrees while kneeling on the back seat. Everything looked eerie, especially the green-tinted fog and these weird Martian-like rock formations. It occurred to me that if I could see the surrounding terrain, then Asad Khalil could certainly see a Jeep with fog lights moving around.

We rode around awhile, and I mentioned to Mr. Barlet, “I don’t see any of your people out here, Gene.”

He didn’t reply.

Kate said, “This must be beautiful in the sun.”

Gene replied, “It’s God’s country. We’re about twenty-five hundred feet above sea level, and from parts of the ranch, you can look down and see the Pacific Ocean on one side and the Santa Inez Valley on the other.”

Anyway, we rolled along, and to be honest, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing there. If Asad Khalil was out there, and he had the same night scope I did, he could put a bullet between my eyes at two hundred yards. And if he also had a silencer on his rifle—and I was sure he did—I’d fall silently out of the Jeep while Gene and Kate went on chattering. It occurred to me that there was no upside to this ride, and it was a long trip back to the ranch house.

The bush suddenly ended, and the trail opened up onto a stretch of open, rocky ground. I could see we were approaching a precipice, and I was going to mention this, but Gene, who knew the terrain like the back of his hand, stopped. He said, “We’re facing west and if it was a clear day, you could see the ocean.”

I looked, but all I could see was fog, fog, fog. I couldn’t believe I had actually come up that way from the coast.

Gene turned toward the left and drove too close to the edge of eternity for my comfort. Horses at least know not to walk off cliffs, but Jeep Wranglers don’t.

After a few long minutes, the Jeep stopped, and a man appeared out of the fog. The guy was wearing black, had black stuff on his face, and was carrying a rifle with a scope. Gene said, “That’s Hercules One—that means a counter-sniper response person.”

Hercules One and Gene exchanged greetings, and the guy, whose real name was Burt, was introduced to us. Gene said to Burt, “Mr. Corey is trying to draw sniper fire.”

Hercules said, “Good. That’s what I’m waiting for.”

I thought I should clarify this and said, “Actually, I’m not. I’m just getting the lay of the land.”

Burt, who looked like Darth Vader all in black, checked me out, but said nothing.

I felt a little out of place in my suit and tie out here in God’s country among real men. Guys with code names.

Gene and Burt chatted a minute, then off we went.

I commented, “The posts seem spaced a little far apart, Gene.”

Again, Gene didn’t reply. His radio crackled, and he put it to his ear. He listened, but I couldn’t hear what the caller was saying. Finally, Gene said, “Okay. I’ll take them there.”

Take who where?

Gene said to us, “Someone wants to meet you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t you even have a code name for him?”

“Nope. Got one for you though—Nuts.”

Kate laughed.

I said, “I don’t want to meet anyone without a code name.”

“I don’t think you have a lot of choice in the matter, John. It was a high-level call.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know.”

Kate glanced back at me, and we sort of shrugged.

So, off we went into the fog to meet someone in the middle of nowhere.

We drove another ten minutes or so across this sort of windswept high plateau, covered with rocks and wildflowers. There was no trail, but we didn’t need one because the terrain was flat and open. We seemed to be on the highest point in the area.

Through the swirling fog, I could see something white ahead, and I picked up the rifle and focused in on it. The white thing was green-tinted now through this weird lens, and I saw that it was a concrete building about the size of a big house. The building sat at the base of a huge, man-made embankment of earth and stone. Beyond the building, at the top of the embankment, was a tall, strange-looking structure, like an upside-down funnel.

As we came within a hundred yards of these fog-shrouded, intergalactic-looking structures at the top of the world, Kate turned to me and said, “Okay—
this
is an
X-Files
moment.”

Gene laughed. He said, “That’s a VORTAC installation.”

“Well,” I said, “that clears that up.”

Gene explained, “It’s an aircraft navigation beacon. You understand?”

“What kind of aircraft? From what planet?”

“Any planet. It sends out omni signals—you know, three-hundred-and-sixty degree radio signals for civilian and military aircraft to navigate. This will be replaced by the satellite Global Positioning System someday, but for now, it’s still in operation.” He added, “Russian nuclear submarines off the coast also use it. No charge.”

The Jeep continued toward this VORTAC station, so I assumed that’s where we were going. I said, “That looks like crap duty.”

Gene replied, “These things are unmanned. It’s all automatic, and it’s monitored by Air Traffic Control in L.A. But people come up here and do routine maintenance. It has its own power source.”

“Right. That would be a long extension cord back to the ranch house.”

Gene sort of chuckled. He said, “We’re on Federal land now.”

“I feel better already. Is this where we’re meeting someone?”

“Yup.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know.” He went on with his tour and said, “Right here, where we’re driving, used to be Playground Three—the presidential helipad. Concrete and lighted. It was stupid to take it out.”

He stopped the Jeep about twenty yards from the VORTAC site and said, “Well, see you later.”

“Excuse me? You want us to get out?”

“If you don’t mind.”

I said, “There’s no one here, Gene.”

“You’re here. Somebody else is here waiting for you.”

I was getting nowhere with this guy, so I said to Kate, “Okay, let’s play the game.” I jumped out of the open Jeep, and Kate got out, too.

She said to Gene, “Are you leaving?”

“Yup.”

Gene didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood any longer, but I asked him, “Can I borrow that rifle?”

“Nope.”

I said, “Okay, thanks for the tour, Gene. Hey, if you’re ever in New York, I’ll take you to Central Park at night.”

“See you later.”

“Right.”

Gene put the Jeep in gear and rode off into the fog.

Kate and I stood there on the open plateau, mist swirling around, not a light to be seen anywhere, except one, coming from the extraterrestrial structure sitting all by itself. I half expected a death ray to come out of that weird tower and turn me into protoplasm or something.

But, my curiosity was piqued, so off I went toward the VORTAC, Kate beside me.

Kate was looking at the structure as we walked and said, “I see some antennas. Don’t see any vehicles. Maybe this is the wrong VORTAC.” She laughed.

She was pretty calm, I thought, given the situation. I mean, there was a crazed assassin out there somewhere, we were armed only with pistols, we had no body armor, no transportation, and we were meeting someone who I wasn’t even sure was from this planet.

When we got to the concrete building, I looked inside through the one small window, which revealed this big electronics room with blinking lights and some other weird high-tech stuff. I tapped on the window. “Hello! We come in peace! Take me to your leader!”

“John, stop being an idiot. This isn’t funny.”

I thought
she
had made a joke a minute before. But she was right—this wasn’t funny.

We walked along the base of the forty-foot-high pile of dirt and rocks, on top of which was the white upside-down funnel, rising about eighty more feet into the air.

We came around to the far side of the mound, and as we turned a corner, I saw a man dressed in dark clothing, sitting on a huge flat rock at the base of the embankment. He was about thirty feet away, and even in the dark and fog, I could see that he was peering through a set of what must have been night vision binoculars.

Kate saw him, too, and we both put our hands on our pistols.

The man heard or sensed our presence because he put down the binoculars and turned toward us. I saw now that he had a long object lying across his knees, and it wasn’t a fishing pole.

So, we all stared at each other for a few long seconds, then the man said, “Your journey has ended.”

Kate said, in a barely audible voice, “Ted.”

Well, I’ll be a horned-toed hoot owl. It was Ted Nash. Why was I not completely surprised?

He didn’t bother to stand and greet us, so we walked over to him and stopped at this Martian-red flat rock where Ted sat with his legs hanging over the edge.

He gave a sort of half wave, as if this was an office encounter. He said, “I’m glad you could make it.”

Oh, fuck you, Ted. How cool can you get? I refused to play his silly game and said nothing.

Kate, however, said, “You could have told us it was you we were meeting.” She added, “You’re not cool, Ted.”

This seemed to deflate him a bit, and he looked annoyed.

Kate also informed him, “We could have killed you. By mistake.”

He’d obviously rehearsed this moment, but Kate wasn’t reading from his script.

Anyway, old Ted had charcoal on his face, a black bandanna around his head, and was wearing black pants, a black shirt, black running shoes, and a heavy flak jacket. I said to him, “A little early for Halloween, isn’t it?”