Holding Their Own: The Toymaker (18 page)

He exited the cave after checking the entire area one last time with the Geiger counter. Next came two showers, one with his suit on, the other without.

After dressing, he waved at Jack, the Apache leader keeping well back.

“It’s safe, my friend,” Hack announced.

“Are you sure, Grandfather?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s perfectly safe. Now, let me show you how my latest toys work. If something happens to me, you’ll have to launch these weapons.”

Nick couldn’t believe his eyes.

They’d heard the first engine fire up just after dawn, a large bulldozer appearing from the tree line a short time later.

Soon after, another unusual sound echoed from the valley below - the whinny of horses. Lots of horses.

The Alliance team watched in amazement as dozens and dozens of wagons came bouncing and rolling into the valley below, their teamsters shaking the reigns to urge the beasts of burden.

Nick saw oxen, horses, and even mules pulling all sorts of wheeled contraptions. He even spotted a school bus “convertible,” sporting a topless frame, its seats still intact and full of people.

Another massive team of stout-looking plow horses came into view, straining as they pulled against the flatbed trailer of an over-the-road semi. All of the makeshift wagons were filled to the brim with people, shovels, rakes, and baskets.

Supervisors wasted no time issuing instructions, and in short order there were thousands of workers shoveling, hauling, and raking dirt.

Astonished at the scene playing out below them, Nick’s team stayed hidden, snapping pictures and trying to take notes and counts.

Butter scribbled a quick line that summed it up best, “This looks like those old movies showing slaves building the pyramids. It’s on that scale.”

Once they’d delivered their human cargo, the horses were put to work hauling, pulling, and assisting with a variety of other manual tasks. By mid-morning, Nick had counted five heavy, diesel-powered pieces of construction equipment supplementing the flesh and blood labor pool.

At 10:45 the supervisors began blowing whistles, motioning for all of the crews to move to the near side of the valley. From his elevated perch, Nick wondered if the workmen were being given a break.

Once the area was clear of occupants, another round of whistles and harsh shouts rose from below, and then the entire ground shook as a series of explosions rattled the New Mexico desert.

Huge, billowing clouds of dust and dirt rose into the air as tons of rock and sand rolled down from a hillside. The minute the fog of sand and soil settled, the heavy equipment teams rushed in and began working the blasted rubble.

The technology fascinated Grim. Logs, ropes, pulleys, and blocks were all being used to move earth and stone. He spied teams of well-coordinated men moving huge slabs of granite, while women with buckets of water lubricated the rollers and rope.

Nick was taking pictures when a new noise reached his ears. Glancing right and left, he couldn’t identify the source. It sounded like some sort of jet engine.

Motion from Kevin’s hide drew Nick’s attention, his son trying to discreetly point skyward.

Nick followed the boy’s finger, but still couldn’t see what his son was trying to point out. Finally, the small drone moved and that drew the Green Beret’s eye.

The big man watched as the quad-copter hovered above the activity down below. Slowly, so as not to draw attention, he moved his rifle’s magnified optic into place in order to study the airborne contraption.

What he found was a sophisticated looking array of black boxes, wires, and lenses hanging from the flying machine’s belly. Even the airframe itself was ominous, appearing as a giant, multi-legged insert with barbed stingers and claws of electronics.

“So that’s how they found the Special Forces team,” he whispered. “They’re using drones. What a hell of an idea.”

Much to the ex-operator’s relief, this particular one didn’t appear to be looking for them. Nick watched as it slowly moved up and down the valley, its lenses and sensors pointed at the workers below. “They’re using it to map and control the irrigation project,” he realized. “That’s another piece of the puzzle solved.”

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the drone whisked away, traveling back north along the route of construction. “Now I know which direction leads to your headquarters,” Nick observed.

“No! No! No!” Hack snapped, his face twisted as if he were in pain. “They were supposed to blow the other side of the valley first!”

He flipped to another image downloaded from the drone, and then another. “This is just wrong! What were they thinking?”

The toymaker pivoted abruptly, snatching up a small stack of papers from a nearby countertop. Poking the top sheet emphatically with his finger, he pleaded to Apache Jack, “It’s right here in the outline.”

No comment came from the bodyguard, which seemed to infuriate the toymaker even more.

“Get my cart ready! Right now! I’m going down there and jerk a knot in somebody’s tail.”

A short time later Hack was driving his golf cart down the twisting mountain lane, his mounted security detail struggling to keep up.

“Grandfather! Please slow down. You won’t have the pleasure of chewing on somebody’s ass if you kill us both on the way to the site.”

Hack did as suggested, inhaling deeply to calm his nerves.

They arrived at the head of the valley, Hack’s frustration mounting again as he had to wait on a horse-drawn wagon of rocks that was blocking the way.

Finally they arrived at an elevated area bustling with activity. Hack was looking for a yellow hat.

As part of the system he’d devised, the toymaker had implemented a trick he’d once read about in high school. Before the advent of radios and cell phones, construction crews commonly wore color-coded hats. Yellow covers were the top management, red the mid-level foremen. Blue caps were specialists, like the explosive experts. Each of the yellow-tops involved with Valley Green had been issued a walkie-talkie radio.

The Apache watched with a smirk as the toymaker demanded the yellow hat call
all
of the field foremen to “the mound.” The Native always enjoyed watching Grandfather rant and rave. It was an art form, the older man a master.

They soon began arriving, some walking, others riding bicycles, and two on horses.

Hack then proceeded to rip ass.

Nick noticed the odd pattern of movement below, his rifle optic focused on what seemed to be a meeting of the important minds. He sucked in a lung full of air when a man with snow-white hair appeared through the glass.

He watched with keen interest as the tall, bean-pole of a man waved his arms in wild, animated motions indicating either anger or frustration, or perhaps both. The pissed-off gentleman’s description matched what the DOE team had described as the man in charge during the hijacking at Los Alamos.

“Well, now we know who the brain of this outfit is,” Nick whispered, exchanging the view through his optic for an image on his camera.

The scolding below was soon concluded, Nick noticing that once he’d bled off his rage, Mr. White Hair seemed to be giving his troops a pep talk. “Good leadership skills,” he whispered.

And then there was a scrambling of activity, the brain-trust disbursing and rushing off to execute the boss’s orders.

Nick was fascinated with the wizard-like persona below, a level of genuine respect forming as he watched the Jefe issue orders and direct the workers. So intense was his study, he failed to notice what was happening at the base of the ridge where the Alliance team and he were hiding.

The first hint was the workers gathering on the far side. When the initial whistle warned of a pending explosion, Nick’s reaction was immediate. “Oh shit!” the big man yelled. “Break cover! Now! Get the fuck off this ridge!”

Under strict orders to remain under cover no matter what, Grim and the guys were slow to react. When they saw their leader running away from the valley like he was being chased by demons, they wisely decided to follow.

The thought of being buried alive under tons of sand and rock motivated the team’s feet, their legs pumping like pistons as they scrambled to put distance between themselves and the pending detonation.

Nick didn’t hear the sound of the second whistle, his own breathing and pounding boots blocking the distant signal. He didn’t have any problem at all hearing the blast.

A thunderous, deafening roar ripped across the New Mexico desert as a wall of rocks, sand, and soil was shot skyward over 100 feet into the air. The Alliance team didn’t see the eruption, their backs turned to the event. But they felt it.

The ground shook under their feet, the upheaval so violent Nick lost his footing, rolling hard to the ground with the jarring impact. Grim was right behind him, the contractor managing to maintain his balance and slowing to help his comrade.

No sooner than Grim had extended a helping hand, a shower of rocks and dirt came raining from the sky.

Nick pulled Grim over his body, practically throwing the ex-contractor toward cover. They both were scrambling for the security of an overhang when rocks the size of car engines began raining from above.

The hailstorm of granite and grit lasted only a few seconds, but to Nick it seemed like it would never stop. His thoughts were of Kevin, the deadly shower more terrifying than any firefight the big man had ever endured.

A thick fog of dust blanketed the area, the disturbed soil making it difficult to breathe or see. Following Grim’s lead, Nick quickly wrapped his shemagh around his face, the cotton cloth acting as an air filter as his eyes desperately searched for any sign of Kevin or Butter.

The soil-cloud was heavy and thick, settling enough for limited visibility in less than a minute. Nick exhaled with relief when Butter and Kevin’s outlines appeared in the distance, both of them apparently unhurt.

“We just dodged one big-ass bullet,” Nick commented to Grim. “That was way too fucking close.”

“No shit,” came the grumbled response as the contractor brushed the soil and dirt from his clothing and gear. “What now?”

Nick didn’t answer immediately, choosing instead to survey his men and ponder their next step. “We know who the leader is,” he said, thinking out loud. “But it would really help if we knew where their headquarters was located.”

“You’re in charge,” Grim responded, rinsing his mouth of the grime with a pull from his Camelbak. “Lead on, oh fearless one.”